Caught In The Lie
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: All Blaine wanted was to survive high school, but it feels like an unachievable feat... that is, until Kurt comes along. AU in which Blaine is trans, female to male, and gay.
1. Prologue

Caught In The Lie

Prologue

"Blaine" could hardly remember a time when he actually felt at ease, especially wandering through the halls of yet another new school. Though it was the first new school of his junior year, it was really the tenth new school since he had started... "expressing" himself two years back. He pulled at the hem of a loose fitting black v-neck, doing his best to stretch out the fabric even more around his chest. Though he knew he could pass for a boy, that his chest was taped down to the point of pain, he was still paranoid. People just didn't seem to understand that this was the way he felt he should be, that he felt trapped beneath the female exterior everyone else couldn't see past, refused to see past.

He hoped McKinley would be a fresh start (as he had all of the other schools), though, deep down, he knew it most likely wasn't going to be different from any of the others at all. He hadn't been accepted in any of the schools in Columbus, Cleveland,or Sandusky... so why the hell would Lima, Ohio be any better? Despite the track record, he tried to remain hopeful.

The plan he had concocted so far consisted of staying off the radar as long as possible. He would pass like a ghost through the remainder of his high school life until he was able to leave behind his God forsaken past and literally move on to brighter and better things.

So far the halls were abandoned, leaving him to ponder just how late he must have arrived but he chose not to spare a glance at his phone for the time. He was new and lost; surely the teachers would offer him some leeway. He squinted at the creased schedule held tightly in his left hand before looking around once more, trying to distinguish which direction the numbers inscribed on the small bronze plates of the heavy wooden doors decreased. The number on his paper read "137" but the doors around him had nothing less than "200" wherever he looked. This couldn't be right; surely the left he had made back at the gymnasium had been the correct guess...

The long awaited sigh he had been holding in all morning finally left his lips as he doubled back towards the gym, taking the right hallway this time. This school was backwards from the last one he'd been in at Columbus, leaving him with the start of a fresh headache so early in the day already. He averted his gaze to the floor at the sight of a couple of boys sporting letterman jackets through the open doors of the gym, knowing full well that watching the pale green tiles would aid him in no way whilst still trying to locate his classroom, but the fear building up in the form of bile crawling up his throat led him to abandon logic, at least momentarily.

As he quickly passed, he could feel three pairs of eyes turn their attention towards him, their conversation faltering only slightly as they stopped to consider his presence. But his plan to blend in must have worked because no threats were hurtled his way; he was in the clear for now, all he had to do was keep it up for the next year and a half. Part of him believed that the only reason he wasn't being tormented now though was due to the fact that they couldn't get a good look at him from where they were standing on the other side of the room. Never the less, he continued to quickly shuffle past them and resumed scanning the numbers on the doors. He was rewarded with the proper classroom finally and carefully pushed the door open, trying to be discreet.

He had no such luck though.

Twenty pairs of eyes turned his way and one boy, standing at his desk, ceased his recitation of a French monologue in mid-sentence. Heat crawled up his cheeks with feverish embarrassment as he mumbled an apology and glanced around the room for an empty chair. As his ironic luck would have it though, the only open desk was to the right of the boy whom he had just interrupted. Keeping his eyes glued to the floor, he passed by a few classmates silently and sat down, tugging a pale green spiral notebook out of his leather satchel and placed it on the semi-defaced desk before himself. Some students giggled and he chanced a look upwards, being made aware of the fact that he must not have heard his teacher speaking.

"Pardon?" Blaine offered, meekly, taking note of the tacky brown suit that Mr. Moreau had on.

"You must be Miss Anderson. Gracie, correct?"

There were no words in the English language, or French for that matter, to describe the immediate lividity that had replaced the bright red he had been merely moments ago. "Correct?" He repeated when Blaine hadn't provided an answer.

"No. Um, it's... I-I'm Blaine, my... my name is Blaine Anderson. Th-there must have been some sort of... mistake." He knew he wasn't fooling anyone as he stumbled over his words, obviously horror stricken. So much for staying off of the radar... He tried to think, to come up with an excuse and before he could consider the plausibility of them, the words left his mouth, "They must have put my sister's name instead of mine."

Everyone was staring blatantly at this point, some boys snickered from the back of the room, and the whispers Blaine had become so accustomed to, had learned to fear, had started up. Day one at McKinley and it was already going to hell.

"Quiet, class," Mr. Moreau interjected, "I see the note next to your name now, Blaine. Next time you're late it's a detention. Kurt, you may continue now."

The boy to Blaine's left nodded and resumed his monologue. Blaine took to doodling in his notebook as a distraction, wondering how long it would be this time before he started hearing the rumors about himself. He could feel the eyes burning into his back, some students were still whispering amongst themselves but he couldn't understand what was being said. An exasperated Kurt apparently couldn't stand the whispering either though.

"You're all just being rude now."

Blaine didn't dare look up.

"Thank you, Kurt. You can sit down now." Mr. Moreau said sternly, growing impatient as well. "Open your textbooks and we'll take a look at conjugations."

"Just ignore them." Blaine heard Kurt whisper to his left, "They're savages for gossip."

Blaine mustered a small nod, still focusing deeply on his thoughts and fearing what the rest of the day might hold for him. He couldn't transfer again, his father had made that perfectly clear... He was so wrapped up in his thoughts he hadn't even heard the bell go off. His only indication that class was over was the scraping of everyone's chairs in damn near perfect unison, followed by the stampede towards the door. He took his time collecting his things, failing to notice that Kurt hadn't left yet either.

"So how do you like McKinley so far?"

Blaine shoved his notebook into his satchel and shouldered it, "It's alright. I'm not really sure yet though, only been here for about half an hour."

"What class do you have next?"

"No class, lunch."

"Oh, so do I! I'll sit with you."

Blaine blinked, taken aback by Kurt's assertion. "Uh, okay. Thanks."

The two left hastily as the next class began to pour in, Blaine following Kurt to the cafeteria and trying to memorize where things were along the way. At least he wouldn't be alone at lunch today, that much was different from every other school experience so far.

"I need to stop by my locker though to get my lunch." Blaine piped up as they neared the cafeteria.

"Okay. Lead the way."

Blaine was immediately curious of Kurt's motives, thinking back to the cruelty he knew all too well that people could possess. "I'll just meet you at the cafeteria."

Kurt shrugged. "Okay, I'll probably be at one of the tables by the windows."

And with that they parted ways. Blaine tugged at the hem of his shirt again, a nervous habit he hoped to outgrow once he was able to actually have the necessary surgery done. His shirt was wrinkled where he'd been pulling at it all day, rising in small little peaks at various places along his chest and stomach. Despite other classes having started the halls were relatively crowded, most likely with students who also had lunch this block and were just taking their time socializing at their own lockers. He rounded the corner and pulled out his schedule again, softly reading aloud the combination to his locker before carefully twisting the dial. He stuffed the paper back into his satchel and pulled the locker open, picking up a pale gold plastic lunch box embellished with pink roses and bright green vines.

Before he could close his locker a fist slammed into the one next to him and he jumped, panic fiercely taking hold of him. He turned his head slightly, his stomach twisting itself in knots, and noticed that the fist belonged to one of the letterman jacket boys from earlier. Based on his size, Blaine wanted to guess the student was a football player. He kept his mouth shut, slowly closing his locker, praying to whatever higher being that could possibly be out there that letterman guy wanted nothing to do with him.

"You're the new kid, aren't you?"

"I- yes- " Blaine spoke softly, failing to mask the fear in his voice.

"Are you really a girl or just a fag that looks like one?"

It was already starting; he would never be able to escape it, no matter where he went. He turned to walk away but a hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him back against his locker. "I asked you a question. You a lesbian that needs some straightening out or a fag that needs some sense knocked into him?"

"I-I'm a boy..." he whispered, his chest tightening, bracing himself against the imminent attack.

"Mr. Karofsky." A teacher with brown, tight curls was approaching them from the far end of the hall.

The hand on his shoulder loosened its grip and he heard the low growl of a command follow shortly, "Don't you fucking dare," along with it followed a look he knew all too well: do anything different than what I say and I swear to God, I'll kill you. Karofsky brightened up and looked at the teacher, "Hi, Mr. Schuester, I was just asking the new kid if he had any thoughts about joining the football team. We need a new kicker since Kurt left the team."

Mr. Schuester looked skeptical, turning his attention to Blaine. "What really happened?"

"What he said." Blaine answered, flawlessly, "I'm a big college football fan, he saw the Buckeyes poster I have in my locker and approached me."

Mr. Schuester's face seemed to relax slightly, indicating that Blaine performed well. "Get to class, you two." He walked away, leaving them alone once again.

Karofsky tightened his grip again and Blaine could feel a bruise forming already, but he fought back the urge to wince and grit his teeth. "See you around." The smirk on his face hinted at what sort of year this would be for Blaine: completely miserable. Karofsky let go of his shoulder and left.

Blaine waited until Karofsky was completely out of sight before he slumped against his locker, trembling and taking in shaky breaths. It took a few moments but he was able to compose himself slightly and headed off towards the cafeteria to meet Kurt. He hoped the other boy wouldn't notice how shaken up he was, that he wouldn't question him about it because he knew he would never be able to discuss what had happened, knew he would never be able to admit that he feared for his life every single day for the past two years. He had learned to accept the loneliness that came with his decision to take action to change his life, he only hoped for the strength to get through it all.

When he entered the cafeteria, sure enough there was Kurt at a table under one of the tall windows. He waved Blaine over, smiling brightly, and for a second Blaine considered the possibility of a friendship, of a shared source of strength but quickly pushed the idea aside. Putting his faith in others would only lead to pain. No, this was something he would need to do alone. He feigned a small smile and walked over to the table, sitting across from Kurt. He would entertain the thought of a friendly acquaintance while at school, but that's all he would ever let Kurt be to him, ever let anyone be to him.


	2. Chapter 1: Human

Author's note: The lyrics used later on in the chapter belong to the wonderful Mr. Darren Criss. I own nothing except my love for every one of these characters.

Caught In The Lie

Chapter 1: Human

The next few weeks played out in a fairly similar manner as the first day. The gradual ease into the October chill did little to aid Blaine's spirits; his favourite season just wasn't doing it for him these days.

After he had lunch with Kurt gym was next on the schedule, much to his dismay, and he mainly chose to opt out of changing rather than stumble over an explanation as to why he would be uncomfortable doing so in either of the locker rooms.

To make matters worse, despite the notes on his teachers' attendance records they continued to "slip up" and call him by his birth given name. Whether this was done purposely to make him a target (the not-so-subtle looks of disgust he received from his French, gym, and math teachers seemed to hint towards and obvious "yes, we are"), or they were genuine mistakes, that's precisely what it _did_ do- he was picked on in almost every single one of his classes.

His teachers had done nothing to stop the snickering that often broke out around him when they called him by the wrong name or when he had been too busy scribbling in his notebook to notice when he was being asked questions in class; they had not told the students to stop throwing various objects (spitballs, pencils, metal rulers, and food for example) at him; they had not done a thing to defend him or protect him at all. He was completely wrong to be hopeful that first day- this place was worse than all of his other schools.

His only reprieve during the school day was his last class, music, where he excelled with such ease that he didn't even need to pay attention to the lectures. Music was something completely natural for him, had always been, and he genuinely felt that his teacher didn't seem to mind him or the… "way he was."

During the first class he sat in the far corner of the room, headphones plugged into an electric keyboard as his fingers flew over the keys gracefully. This was all that had kept him sane through the madness that his life had become the past few years. He'd always loved music, but he came to rely on it his freshman year; it had become his crutch, his only real escape from reality.

Furthermore, not only did he have to worry about his classes and avoiding the Neanderthals roaming the halls with their self-proclaimed death warrants for his head but he also was having a difficult time keeping Kurt at a distance. Although he had promised himself not to let Kurt become more than a friendly acquaintance, he found it extremely difficult to avoid the other boy. If there were any words Blaine could use to describe Kurt the one that stuck out the most vividly and immediately was "persistent," he was definitely persistent.

All he wanted to do was survive the day so he could lock himself away in his apartment, but within only the first week Kurt had asked him if he wanted to grab coffee after school almost every single day. After Blaine declined steadily for two weeks straight the other boy finally stopped asking.

It's not that he didn't want friends; he was just so terrified Kurt would only end up leaving in the end as everyone else had done in his life. One day in particular though, a Thursday, Blaine chose to listen to Kurt's incessant rambling during lunch…

"What's Glee club?" he had asked, dumbly.

There was no mistaking the sparkle in Kurt's eyes, whether due to the subject of the club or the fact that Blaine had actually been engaging in the conversation for the first time he didn't know, but there was most certainly an ecstatic twinkling in those bright blue eyes.

"Only the best part of this dull school! You should come, it's after school today."

Those eyes.

"Uhhh… but what is it exactly?"

"What do you think it is, silly?"

Those damn perfect eyes.

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you."

"Well, there's no way I'm going to spoil it for you then. You'll just have to come with me and experience it for yourself." The almost childlike excitement behind Kurt's words, topped with such a genuine smile, jolted Blaine back to reality and he quickly shrugged and offered a quiet, "maybe."

He knew what a crush felt like and he knew how dangerous they were for… "someone like him." He always tried to block feelings like that, push them as far back in his mind as he possibly could, but sometimes they were just too overpowering for a 16-going-on-17 year old girl-transitioning-to-boy. He was not going to let that happen now; he wasn't going to overcomplicate his life even more, not when this boy across from him was actually being so friendly and smiling at him and-

'_Oh god, had his smile always been so beautiful?_

_No._

_No, don't._' Blaine could do nothing to stop the onslaught of hormonal thoughts.

"So what time does this Glee club… thing start? And where is it?"

"I'll meet you at your locker after school and we can go together."

Could that smile really be for him? Of course not, no, Kurt was merely excited about a potential new member. Or, less flatteringly, he was only excited about the club in general and it was being transferred into everything they discussed, making Blaine think too much of absolutely nothing.

This was not what he needed. Especially with the bell about to ring in ten minutes and the increasing difficulty to think of a valid excuse to get out of participating in gym class.

"God, I hate gym." He heard himself mumbling, unaware that Kurt had even heard until-

"Ugh, so do I. Worst. You have it next?"

"Unfortunately, yeah."

"So how does that… work? I mean, which locker room do you change in?"

He wasn't sure if embarrassment or anger began to overtake him in that moment. All he knew was that he needed to force himself to calm down before answering, before snapping at Kurt and his curiosity. It was still so difficult to keep his emotions in check and be able to speak about the subject rationally considering he'd never really had anyone to discuss it with before.

"I haven't yet. I keep asking to sit out."

"And they let you get away with that? Lucky!"

"Well, not exactly…" he thought back to the first day, how Coach Tanaka had _looked_ at him and told him to run laps anyways, "I have to run laps in my regular clothes while everyone else plays."

Kurt frowned, furrowing his brow. Gosh, he was positively adorable when Blaine actually chose to pay attention to him. "Wait so… what about the bathrooms then?"

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes to the untouched sandwich in rumpled tin foil that sat before him. "I mean it's not so bad. I don't mind running. And I usually just avoid going at school."

"Yeah, but…" Kurt trailed off, clearly dropping the subject involving bathroom confusion, and shuddered while Blaine raised an eyebrow, "And I wouldn't be able to handle walking around smelling like sweat for the rest of the day. You're a braver person than I am."

Blaine carefully took note of Kurt's word choice. "Person." It was safer than choosing between "man" or "woman."

'_Are you being kind or just trying not to offend me? Is there are difference between the two?'_

When the bell finally rang he shoved his sandwich back into his lunchbox, hastily closing the tin foil around it to keep from making a mess, and stood up in sync with Kurt.

"So I guess I'll see you after school then."

"Definitely!" Kurt replied with an eager smile and departed with, Blaine couldn't help but notice, the tiniest hint of a spring in his step.

He took off towards the gym, habitually pulling at his shirt as always, and envisioned playing piano melodies in order to get the images of Kurt's eyes and smiles out of his head. That would simply just not do.

He bit his lip when he stopped before the gym, swallowing hard. He had been lying to Kurt when he said he didn't mind running in his regular clothes, he hated it. More so though, he was certain he wasn't quite fond of Coach Tanaka either with his judgmental gaze and condescending attitude. Everyone, not just Tanaka, seemed to think they were better than Blaine, above him because they hadn't been born "freaks."

He sighed deeply, stepping forward through the double doors, and took his designated spot against the wall as other students started lining in. The girls walked towards their locker room while the boys did the same, and he stood where he had learned to stand his entire life: somewhere in between.

He was pulling at his shirt again when Coach Tanaka walked in, obviously upset about something. This wasn't good. Not good at all. Blaine already figured out during the last few classed that whenever their coach was upset he redirected it as anger towards the students, and by students that meant mainly Blaine.

In an instant Blaine's hand flew up towards his mouth and he took to chewing on the nail of his index figure. The disgusting habit was his alternative to other forms of self-destruction he'd been struggling with for years, methods of self-therapy that only intensified with all of the bullying and constant thoughts of self-loathing.

He thought of his piano again to dull the nagging voice that was clawing towards the front of his mind, screaming, _'Find something sharp. Find something that burns._'

"Miss Anderson, unprepared again, I see."

He cringed at the sharp tone, the disgust and hatred that practically dripped off of Coach Tanaka's words. He wouldn't answer though, not to "Miss." This only seemed to aggravate his teacher more though.

"I'm not dealing with your attitude today. Go to the principal's office."

To the normal student this may have been a bad thing, but to Blaine it was practically a free pass. He tried to hide his delight as he picked up his satchel and lunch box off of the floor and left without a word, but not before catching a few sneers at his back. A soft sigh left his lips as he made his way to the office, mentally performing piano arrangements from Harry Potter to calm his nerves. He took a seat silently, uncertain of the protocol at this school, but figured he would just have to wait around until the end of class for Tanaka to show up and "explain" to Principal Figgins what had happened.

He took to nail biting again as he waited, anxiety laying dormant deep in the pit of his stomach.

After forty-five minutes of day dreaming, Coach Tanaka finally walked into the office, explaining to one of the secretaries that he needed to see Principal Figgins about a student's misconduct. If he had been a braver man, Blaine would have sighed sarcastically and added some snarky remark about Coach Tanaka's definition of "misconduct." But he took to ripping off the tip of the nail on his left ring finger and spitting it out when no one's attention was directed towards him. Tanaka disappeared and a moment later Blaine heard his name being called, beckoning him inside, so he gathered his things and followed.

"What seems to be the problem?" Figgins asked, sounding more bored than concerned, leaving Blaine to ponder just how many times Tanaka had been pestering their dear principal with silly outcries regarding students.

"She was being disrespectful."

Blaine cringed again.

"I refused to answer him when he called me 'Miss Anderson' is what happened. I wasn't being disrespectful, if he addresses me correctly then I'll answer." He was a little taken aback by the force behind his own words, curious as to where the small burst of confidence originated.

"My roster says 'Gracie Anderson' so- "

"My name is Blaine."

His blood was beginning to boil at this point; he was so sick of arguing the same point over and over again.

"Blaine is a nickname, as I understand it?" Principal Figgins interjected, perhaps genuinely unaware or perhaps mockingly.

"There was a form sent to the school that explains all of this… " Blaine explained quietly, "I really don't want to have to explain it all again now. I asked not to have Gracie put on the attendance records, only Blaine was supposed to be before my last name. I've kindly been correcting people who have made the mistake but Coach Tanaka seems determined to make me uncomfortable by calling me otherwise so maybe… " Deep breath, deep, deep breath, "Would I be able to switch into another gym class? Are there any other teachers at this school?"

"There are not, no." Figgins replied, the slightest bit of sympathy behind his words. "Coach Tanaka, I ask that you please address Blaine the way he wishes to be."

"The kid also refuses to change into the right clothes." Tanaka grunted.

"Blaine?"

"Nowhere for me to change…" Blaine mumbled, embarrassed by his own discomfort. "I mean, well… I don't belong in the girls' locker room and I don't want the boys to… tease me."

"Why don't you give it a try in the room you'd feel most comfortable in out of the two and if you're teased, come back to me and we'll try to work out a solution." Figgins proposed with a warm smile.

"She can't change in the boys' room, it'd be inappropriate." Tanaka offered through gritted teeth, causing Blaine to shrink back into his chair.

"If the boys' room is where _he_ feels most comfortable, then that's where _he_ shall be allowed to change. End of discussion. Blaine, let me write you a late slip for your next class."

Blaine was speechless. Technically he normally was, but had he wanted to think of something to say he simply would not have been able to. He sat up slowly, offering a slight nod and a small smile that he knew did nothing to express the level of gratitude he felt towards Figgins in that moment. Tanaka pushed his chair in angrily as he exited, leaving the two alone. Blaine took his chance to mumble a quiet, "Thank you" as he was handed the late pass.

Only three more classes and school would be over for the day; he was definitely not looking forward to waiting any longer though. For once he'd actually been anxious in a good way, growing more and more curious as he thought about what this "Glee club" could be. Kurt was cruel not to offer any helpful hints.

Was this was friendship felt like though? Of course Blaine knew Kurt wasn't being deliberately cruel, the entire scenario was almost… playful rather. But he soon brushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to linger on them any longer and confuse himself.

He did all that he could to pass the time during class, tapping out a steady rhythm with his pen on his desks, drawing poor depictions of faceless figures in the margins of his notebooks, playing through the longest piano arrangements he knew during music class: all of it was just torture feeding the insatiable creature of curiosity in his brain.

At last the final bell rang and he sprang from his seat eagerly, briskly walking down the hall and towards his locker before he would search for Kurt. Only… Kurt was already waiting there for him.

'_Curious…_' he thought as he approached, recognizing Kurt's ensemble from behind (consisting of a tight black vest overlaying a pale grey thin sweater and faded jeans) from earlier on in the day. As he walked closer though he also noticed Kurt's hand was over his mouth and he was staring at something before himself, his face wrinkled halfway between concern and sympathy.

"Kurt, what are you looking- " His throat instantaneously became a barren desert and he dropped his satchel, unable to pry his eyes away from his locker, his now defaced locker, with crude photos of his face photoshopped onto the bodies of women in compromising sexual positions and derogatory names decorating it.

It was going to take everything in himself to keep from bursting into tear right there on the spot. A small crowd of students began forming behind the two of them, pointing and snickering, whispering and repeating some words painted on the locker.

"Freak!"

"Faggot!"

"Slut!"

"Blaine, we- we can take it down." Kurt began, weakly, and it was the absense of Kurt's confidence that sent Blaine over the edge. His eyes welled up painfully and one blink had them sliding down his face in quick succession.

He wanted to run, wanted to hide away and slam his head against something, anything, until darkness overtook him and he wouldn't have to handle all of the pain anymore.

Instead, he moved forward and began ripping the photos off of the locker, knowing he would be able to do nothing to erase the images from his own mind or the students' that had actually seen them; he would have to save covering up the spray painted words for another time.

Instantly, Kurt turned to the crowd of students and barked, "What are you all looking at? Get out of here, you should be ashamed!"

There were a few more laughs before people finally began shuffling away. Blaine pressed the backs of his hands against his eyes, already puffy and raw, and rubbed away some tears. He sniffled and bent down, gathering the shredded photograph pieces and throwing them away in groups until there was nothing left on the floor.

Kurt had been silent throughout the whole process and, for a quick moment, Blaine actually thought the other boy might have left. But sure enough, there he was when Blaine turned around to face him finally. "So," he sniffled again, "you were going to show me what this Glee club is about?"

Kurt looked as though he might burst into tears himself at this point, something Blaine knew he wouldn't be able to handle seeing. "Are we going to go or…?" he added when Kurt hadn't provided an answer.

Kurt nodded and hooked his arm through Blaine's, leading the way to the choir room. Blaine took a moment to glance down at their arms, letting himself come to the conclusion that this must be what a gesture of sympathy looked like. When they walked in a small girl with long hair had been standing before a few others, rambling. All eyes turned their way and Blaine was reminded of the first day of school; he had such a terrible knack for interrupting others.

"Thanks, Rachel. Now if you'll sit down." The same teacher that had approached Blaine and Karofsky stood up from behind the piano.

"But, Mr. Schue, I'm not finished- " Blaine wondered how it was possible for someone to speak so quickly. He immediately was presented with the mental image of Alvin and the Chipmunks, attributing Rachel's ability to do so to her short stature.

"Yes, I think you are." Mr. Schue turned his attention towards Kurt and Blaine.

"Kurt, baby you look upset." Blaine recognized the girl speaking from across the room from his English class, Mercedes, if his memory served him right. "Both of you do."

Kurt merely shook his head in response and lead them over to two chairs at the far left of the room. He unhooked his arm from Blaine's and sat down, Blaine doing just the same.

"Is Karofsky giving you a hard time again? Because I'll- "

"No, Finn. Not me." Kurt cut him off, sternly. "Everyone, this is Blaine Anderson. He might be interested in joining Glee club."

"I'm… still not exactly sure what it is, to be honest. Kurt wouldn't tell me anything about it." Blaine looked around nervously at everyone else. "Is this like a group therapy type of thing or…?"

His question was greeted with a few laughs and he immediately felt embarrassed for asking such a stupid question. That urge to stand up and run was back. The door was right there…

"Sort of," a girl with short blonde hair answered, smiling, "it certainly has been for me, anyways."

He understood now, they were not mocking him with their laughter… this was laughter among friends, an inside joke of sorts that they all shared.

"So… what do you guys do here then?" Blaine mustered the courage to ask another question.

"What do you say we show him, everyone?" Mr. Schue offered and everyone, including Kurt, stood up and walked to the front of the room, facing Blaine. He was beyond confused now… until Mr. Schue began playing the piano.

He felt his eyes widen, knew how ridiculous he must have looked to the rest of them, and he couldn't contain the broad grin that stretched across his face.

Music.

This was a music club.

These were people that, like him, shared his love and need for it. Although he did not recognize the song, he recognized the enthusiasm every single person before him possessed while they sang and danced about the room; in that moment it didn't matter what he was, who he was, what he so desperately desired to be… he felt connected to every single living soul in the room right then and there.

When the last chord had been played, when the last note had been sung, he stood and clapped, loud and overzealously.

"That- this is amazing. I had no idea something like this- do other schools do this too?" To his dismay, he was beginning to sound like the little Jewish girl, Rachel, whom he had mentally been comparing to tiny cartoon rodents only moments ago, but none of that mattered currently.

He was rewarded with grins, laughter, and bows from a boy with a Mohawk, Kurt, and an Asian boy and girl.

"Yes, other schools do this as well. We compete against each other." Mr. Schue beamed, clearly pleased with Blaine's excitement.

"I can't believe I've never known about this. Where do I sign up?"

"Just audition." Mr. Schue replied.

"Even though everyone gets in anyways." A boy in a wheelchair mumbled under his breath.

"Right now…?" His fingers were already itching to caress the piano keys.

"If you don't have anything prepared- " Mr. Schue started but Blaine cut him off.

"Could I use the piano?"

Everyone began walking back to his or her seats, Kurt wearing a particularly intrigued expression as Mr. Schue said "of course" and stepped to the side.

Blaine sat down at the piano, gently gliding his fingers over the smooth ivory keys. This piano was old; they didn't make them like this anymore. He'd already fallen in love with the crispness when he'd heard Mr. Schue playing. Luckily enough, his voice was lower than that of most girls his age, allowing him to sing with a rich baritone sound as well as his tenor capabilities. He knew everyone was watching him now, knew he should be nervous but… not here. Not like this. This was where he felt at home; music is where he would always live.

"What'll you be playing for us?" Mr. Schue asked, kindly.

"Are original songs alright…?" Blaine offered hesitantly as everyone else whispered amongst each other curiously.

"Whenever you're ready."

Normally he played this piece on guitar but had been working out a piano arrangement recently. He nodded at Mr. Schue and began to play, extending the intro and smiling to himself before singing.

"_I feel like a loser__, __I feel like I'm lost.__I feel like I'm not sure if I feel anything at all__, b__ut believe me I'm not helpless__I just need someone to love…__ S__o my situations rough__,__ that just makes me a dumb human__like you."_

All of the whispers had subsided, everyone had become mesmerized and he started singing more confidently.

_"I feel like a shortstop__ a__long third base:__I may just help you but I still don't like your face__. __But believe I'm not hostile__I just want to hear you laugh__ w__hen I'm sarcastic like that__ a__nd that just makes me a dumb human__like you."_

His eyes slipped shut, his fingers knew exactly where they needed to be on the keys, and he felt himself drifting away into his private serenity. People could bully him all they wanted, they could destroy his things, but they could never take this away from him._"Why do I have this incredible need__to stand up and say, 'Please pay attention?'__It's the last thing that I need__, __to make myself seen, well that ain't my intention…" _He flourished the next word with a laugh, "_no."_

He opened his eyes again, adding a small interlude before the final verse. _"I feel like an artist who's lost his touch__, h__e likes himself in his art__ b__ut not his art too much__. __But believe me I've got something__, __I just don't know how to say__… __That I'm just fine with the way__, w__ith the way that I'm moving, but that just makes me a dumb human__, __that just makes me, that makes a human like you__…"_

He walked his fingers down the keys to the final chord of the song. When he finished he slid his hands under himself, sitting on them as his shyness began to overtake again and finally looked up at everyone. Kurt had tears in his eyes again, that Finn kid looked either dumbfounded or insecure, but the majority of them were staring at him with an expression he'd never had directed his way: complete adoration.

"Wow… that was… You're definitely in." Mr. Schue stood, clapping. "Guys, let's give a warm welcome to our newest member of Glee Club, Blaine Anderson."


	3. Chapter 2: Monster

Author's note: Shorter chapter here. I was considering making it longer but decided it best to break it up instead so the next chapter will probably be up pretty soon. Looking forward to everyone's feedback!

This is a subject that hits a little close to the heart for me and I've been so paranoid about its reception, so if you have a moment please just tell me what you think so far.

Enjoy!

Caught In The Lie

Chapter 2: Monster

"_Guys, let's give a warm welcome to our newest member of Glee Club, Blaine Anderson."_

The words rang through Blaine's head for the rest of his time in Glee club, for the rest of the night even. As he lay in wait for sleep the smile on his face was far too broad to allow him to relax enough to drift off.

Acceptance had been a foreign concept the past few years. To have been so easily taken in by these strangers who asked no questions, who hadn't stared at him in disgust… he was afraid the entire day had been a cruel and teasing dream of a life he might never have.

Kurt couldn't stop smiling at him after he had performed. An enthusiastic toothy grin that Blaine couldn't stop himself from mirroring now that he was alone at home. He kept relatively quiet as Mr. Schue spoke during the duration of the meeting, unsure of his place even though it seemed as though he had finally found a place to be himself.

The paranoia refused to vanish though.

But for the moment he had Thursdays to look forward to. This was both a blessing and a curse, however, because the rest of the week now seemed to move twice as slow.

The next day Kurt flashed him a knowing smile, one that could only be translated to "I know exactly how you feel, I've been there." And perhaps he had been, perhaps Blaine wasn't giving him enough credit. Kurt seemed to be the only other gay kid in the school and Blaine was cautious but he wasn't an idiot. He was starting to realize just how foolish it would be to disregard Kurt's friendship, especially now after he had introduced Blaine to something he foresaw as quickly becoming his salvation.

"Nice" was too weak of a word to use to describe his feelings towards there being others who understood his reliance on music, but it was the only word coming to mind. It was simple and explained all that it needed to. He was never really one for many words, it was far easier for him to express himself through song, and so the blunt word his mind kept settling on seemed fitting.

Blaine slid into his seat beside Kurt in French, a dazed smile plastered on his face. There was no way he would be able to pay attention today, his head was buzzing with ideas for the assignment Mr. Schue had given them for the week.

"_Find a song to express inspiration."_

"Ahem," he heard to his left. He turned his head to face Kurt; the same toothy grin from the previous day greeted him. "So, I take it you enjoyed yourself yesterday. You have any ideas for the assignment this week?"

Blaine shook his head, regardless of the fact that the _only_ things filling his head currently were ideas.

"It's all I've been thinking about, I think it's perfect for this week actually," Kurt opened his notebook and began copying the homework assignment off of the board.

Blaine's curiosity got the better of him and he blurted out, "Why do you say that?"

"Well, because you joined. A bit of inspiration might be helpful, don't you think?"

Blaine wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel in regards to the response. "I'm just like everyone else, Kurt-"

"I know," Kurt smiled.

Blaine felt an uneasy flutter in his stomach, the same he had felt when he actually paid attention to the way Kurt looked, the first time their eyes met and he was faced with that brilliant smile.

"So then why would I need inspiration?"

"I just thought it might be nice. I saw the way you looked when you were there… that's the happiest I've seen you since we met. A little inspiration… well, I figured you could use the boost. You seem so sad all the time."

"What's your angle, Kurt? Am I some charity case for you or… what?" he snapped, sounding angrier than he intended.

The question had left his lips before he had time to think the words over. He knew he sounded cruel and accusatory, and Kurt had been so nice with only the pure intentions of helping.

"I mean, fuck I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- just… just ignore that. Please," he felt mortified and quickly created a barrier between the two of them by propping his head up against his hand, facing away from Kurt.

"Blaine-"

"Settle down and take out your homework from last night, class. Pass it forward so I can collect them," for once Blaine was thankful Mr. Moreau had interrupted.

He knew Kurt wouldn't leave the conversation Blaine didn't want to have to silence. For now he refused to even acknowledge Kurt's presence though, sketching stars in the margin in his notebook. Class was going to feel twice as long without Kurt's mocking facial expressions and whispered remarks.

Blaine could feel Kurt staring at him for the entirety of the lecture. Even though he was bearing the heat from Kurt's eyes on the side of his neck, Blaine knew there would be little he could do to avoid his friend during lunch the next period. Unless he elected to have his lunch somewhere else, but he had no idea where in the school he could even do that. Safely, at least.

He wouldn't be allowed to eat in the library or his music classroom, he wasn't allowed to leave school grounds due to his junior status… his only real options were the cafeteria or one of the bathrooms.

The thought of spending an entire period, especially with his lunch, in a bathroom both terrified and disgusted him… but right now he felt he needed to do anything to avoid confrontation from Kurt.

Suddenly, a thought struck his brain like lightening.

Maybe he would be able to eat in the choir room where Glee club at taken place.

He took to studying the clock in eager anticipation of the end of class. As soon as the bell rang he gathered his books in his arms and bolted straight for the door, leaving Kurt, neatly packing his things, behind. Upon noticing Blaine's sudden departure though Kurt hastily shoved his books wherever they would fit and called after Blaine, but he was too late: Blaine had already disappeared.

After the initial incident with Karofsky, Blaine had learned to carry his lunch with him rather than make the stop at his locker after French. But, still being in a dreamy daze from the previous day's events, he had completely forgotten to take it with him after his English class (just prior to French) and would need to go back there now.

He swallowed, hard, and only hoped other students would still be lingering in the halls by the time he had reached it. His locker was located on the complete opposite end of the school from Mr. Moreau's classroom, which meant he usually made it there just as the bell signaling the start of the next class sounded off.

Despite his speedy pace, he still arrived just as the bell rang and the hall looked significantly vacant. With a quick glance around and a heavy pounding in his chest he quickly spun the dial on his combo lock, panicking when he pulled and discovered the lock wouldn't budge: he'd spun the wrong combination.

"Calm down, slowly now," he whispered under his breath and tried again.

He pulled the lock free and just as soon as he stuck his hand inside, the door of his locker was forcefully slammed shut, pinning his hand. He cried out in sheer agony and Karofsky, materializing out of thin air to his right, merely smiled.

"Hummel is enough of a faggot for this school, we don't need two of you here," his voice was laced with pure disgust, such disdain that Blaine felt queasy.

'_Why do you hate me so much? What have I ever done to any of you?'_ Blaine thought bitterly as he tried to extricate his hand. Tears were streaming freely down his face; some part of his hand was definitely broken and the harder he pulled the more it hurt.

"Help! Please, someone!"

"I'll fucking kill you if you talk. Remember that."

Karofsky vanished just as Mr. Schuester rounded the corner in a full on sprint. He took one look at Blaine before his eyes shifted to the locker and he seemed to be at a loss regarding what to do. After only a second's worth of consideration he ran into a nearby classroom and returned with a metal ruler.

Blaine thought it looked too flimsy to be of much use but Mr. Schue wedged it between the small opening Blaine's hand was creating and pushed on it, carefully placing himself in front of Blaine's face to shield it in case the ruler snapped. The extreme way the ruler seemed to be bending led Blaine to believe it was dangerously close to snapping, that he would end up stuck and on display for other students passing by to gawk at.

As he was envisioning a booth charging admission to stare at him the locker door finally flew open and Blaine staggered backwards, nursing his injured hand closely to his chest as he fell onto his ass.

"Blaine, are you okay? What happened?" Mr. Schue kneeled down beside him, concern swimming in his eyes. He tried to take Blaine's hand between his own to examine the extent of the damage but it only made Blaine flinch away and hold his hand tighter to his chest.

Blaine couldn't focus on Mr. Schue's questions. He knew that something had been said, figured it must have been directed at him because of the expectant look he was being given, but for the life of him he could not guess what he had been asked.

The pain in his hand was far too much to take, his vision was blurred and he felt sick, not only from the excruciating ache in his hand but from the weight of Karofsky's threat.

On top of it all he noticed heads poking out of the door frames all down the hall. He was starting to wish he hadn't abandoned Kurt right now.

"Blaine, are you alright?" Mr. Schue's voice had dropped down to a whisper, more concerned than it had been a moment ago.

Blaine sniffled and nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm- I'll be fine. Thanks. Can we…" he glanced down the hall again, "There are people staring."

Mr. Schue looked behind himself before helping Blaine to his feet, "Let's head to the nurse to get your hand looked at."

Blaine bent down to pick up his satchel but Mr. Schue beat him to it, scooping it up by the strap and placed a hand on Blaine's back, "Come on." Before they left Mr. Schue closed his locker and clicked the lock shut.

They walked in silence until they had left the hallway, away from prying eyes, and Mr. Schuester couldn't contain himself any longer, "What happened, Blaine?"

"Someone must have bumped into my locker door when they were trying to get to class…" he knew he should say who it was, explain that it wasn't an accident but an act of malicious hate because if any teacher at this school was going to help him it would have definitely been Mr. Schue.

But past experiences with bullies and teachers in the other schools he had been to led him to believe this situation would somehow become so warped that the blame would end up being placed on his shoulders.

"_If you would stop trying to get attention by acting like a boy and flaunting it."_

"_If you tried harder to fit in."_

"_You're making waves to get a reaction out of people."_

"_You're being inappropriate."_

He shut his eyes to block out the voices sounding off in his head, belonging to past principals and teachers who were supposed to protect him. It was starting to overwhelm him so much that he had to stop walking and lean against a set of lockers close by. He'd completely forgotten about Mr. Schue's presence until his voice startled him, "Did you see who it was?"

Blaine's mind instantly presented him with his initial encounter with Karofsky. The threatening look that he had been given caused Blaine to shake even now as he recalled it. Adding the most recent threat, one he had actually made vocal now, and he was about ready to faint.

If Karofsky wouldn't kill him, as he had suggested, he certainly proved he wasn't afraid to seriously injure him at the very least.

"No," he whispered, voice as shaky and vulnerable as he felt. He opened his eyes and pushed off of the lockers then started walking past Mr. Schue on his way to the nurse. "I think I can handle it from here now, thanks for your help," he held his hand out for his satchel.

Mr. Schue reluctantly handed it over, still filled with a thousand more questions burning the back of his throat. "How about I go find Kurt and send him your way?"

Blaine hesitated before nodding, "He should be in the cafeteria right now, we have lunch together."

Despite the inevitable conversation the two of them were most likely going to have he was more afraid of being alone right now; he just wanted a friend, his only friend.

"Sure, Blaine," Mr. Schue turned to leave but Blaine suddenly remembered what had been on his mind right before the locker incident.

"Oh, Mr. Schue, I was wondering… for future reference, are we allowed to eat lunch in the choir room?"

"Something wrong with the cafeteria?" Mr. Schue asked, curious.

"I uh… I just wanted to… work on some things," Blaine offered tentatively.

"Well, you would need someone to supervise you-"

Blaine's face fell, "Oh, alright."

"I'm usually in there for my lunch right now so it shouldn't be a problem if you want to hang out there."

"What's wrong with the staff room?" Blaine joked and Mr. Schue smiled. "Thank you."

"Sure, Blaine. I'm going to go find Kurt, take it easy," Blaine nodded and Mr. Schue vanished, leaving him to stare at the door of the infirmary. He didn't want to go in alone and decided to wait a little longer for Kurt.

He glanced down at his hand and winced at the sight of it; it was swollen to the point where he couldn't even see the veins on the back of it and the center was bruised a deep purple from having been stuck between the locker door.

Seeing it seemed to amplify the pain and his eyes were tearing up again; he hoped Kurt would show up soon.


	4. Chapter 3: Lean On Me

Author's note: So this is a bit of a long one. Not sure if the chapter length turns anyone away. I hope not. Really curious to hear everyone's input; let me know if there's anything you'd like to see more or less of!

Caught In The Lie

Chapter 3: Lean On Me

Kurt was beginning to worry when Blaine hadn't shown up for lunch. Sure, he had been avoiding Kurt the last period but that didn't have to mean it would carry over into this one, did it? Besides, he knew how much Blaine hated having lunch alone; there was no way he'd subject himself to that over a silly… Kurt didn't even know what to call the interaction they'd had in French. It certainly wasn't an argument.

The entire scenario just confused Kurt the more that he thought about it.

He sighed, settling down into the rickety chair of their usual table. The weathered wooden table groaned under the weight of his bag and lurched to the left. Between himself and Blaine they managed to find a way of balancing out the table to keep it from swaying as they ate, but without him his wardrobe was constantly in danger of being ruined.

As he twisted the strap of his bag between his hands an unsettling thought occurred to him, _'What if he's not avoiding me? What if he's run into whoever defaced his locker?'_

Kurt furrowed his brow in silent contemplation.

'_Could it be Karofsky?'_ the panicked thought rushed through his brain like a flood, completely obliterating his defenses and rendering him powerless against his own bitter memories involving his tormentor.

Now that he thought about it Karofsky did seem… distracted. As though Kurt was no longer his only target anymore.

Kurt decided to wait five more minutes before he would try to find Blaine.

Okay, possibly two minutes.

One minute… tops.

He swiped his bag off of the table; the leather satchel swiftly collided with his bony hip and bounced avidly, seemingly as animated as Kurt, as he strode towards the open doors to leave. In retrospect the self-appointed wait time seemed silly; he should have known himself better than to assume his mind would actually present him with one, let alone five, minute of peace rather than constant apprehension.

Kurt decided the best place to start was Blaine's locker. Since they had become friends he had only been there once. Yesterday: when he had stealthily extracted Blaine's schedule from his satchel to glimpse at the number and surprise him after school. Though it had only been the day before the exact number of Blaine's locker eluded him.

Their classes had them on opposite ends of the school from one another as well as their locker assignments (Kurt with the seniors and Blaine with the juniors.) He knew where the hallway was, obviously, after having spent all of the previous year occupying it. He only hoped that Blaine would be wandering about the hall still to facilitate Kurt's one-man search party.

Unfortunately, as Kurt rounded the corner to the junior hallway he saw no one. He scowled in disappointment and silently debated other locations Blaine might currently be occupying.

He thought back to his freshman year, one he'd spent most of in the bathroom washing off slushies, and figured that might be as good a place as any to check next. The problem was that he didn't know if Blaine would be in the boys' room or girls' room.

Kurt knew how uncomfortable the choice between the two made Blaine. He wanted to avoid ridicule in the boys' room but he was also probably safer in the girls', despite probably feeling disgusted and out of place.

It was times like these that Kurt wished, with genuinely everything that he was, that he was able to do more to help Blaine. Although Blaine never spoke about himself, Kurt could tell how often the other boy silently tore himself apart.

He knew Blaine must not have had any support from family otherwise he'd have probably started hormone replacement therapy by now and his lunch options would expand farther than the peanut butter sandwiches he brought with him everyday.

Kurt merely guessed at all of this though, feeling pretty intuitive, with no actual confirmation from Blaine; he was diffident when it came to bringing up topics like "gender dysphoria" and "family" for fear of setting off his friend. Blaine obviously went to great lengths to avoid the conversations for a reason and Kurt wasn't going to corner him into feeling even more uncomfortable than he already always felt.

Though Kurt respected Blaine's disinclination, he couldn't help but feel frustrated over it. Every time he had subtly tried to sneak in one of their taboo topics Blaine shut down completely or redirected. It drove Kurt completely mental and he often referred to it as their "Verbal Tango," a constant dance around the things they truly needed to discuss.

Blaine was irascibly stubborn.

He often tried to encourage Blaine to share by bringing his own personal matters into conversation as an example, but it usually failed in eliciting the response Kurt was looking for.

He'd spent an entire lunch hour speaking in serious whispers about the death of his mother one day, feeling particularly overwhelmed and needing to share his anguish; Blaine was sincere, listening silently while Kurt spoke and offered something like an understanding smile before embracing him. The smile only evoked more questions for Kurt, ones that he refrained from voicing.

Kurt continued to brood over all of this as he walked down the hall. Upon reaching the door to the girls' bathroom he glanced around hastily before pushing it open falteringly.

"Blaine?" his voice came out sheepish and reverberated through the abandoned stalls.

Not a single soul. Moaning Myrtle herself couldn't even be found if anyone had bothered to search for her.

Kurt sighed and stepped back, letting the door fall back into place with a muffled thud. The knot in his stomach contorted as he pushed open the door to the boys' room and discovered a similar scene: eerily vacant.

His fingers flew to his mouth, the tips just barely touching his lips. It was a nervous gesture that dated back to his childhood. He could never bring himself to chew on his perfectly manicured nails, even as a toddler he seemed to know that, but going through the motions and caressing his own lower lip did wonders to calm him.

Kurt had just made it back into the cafeteria when he noticed something very out of place; his stomach lurched violently again.

He'd never seen Mr. Schue wandering about the cafeteria before, let alone with such an… alarming expression. Their eyes met as Kurt began to approach him, but Kurt wasn't prepared for the way Mr. Schue now half-sprinted towards him; he could literally feel his heart slip from his chest and into his stomach.

"Kurt, I've been looking for you," he was out of breath, his face weary.

"What's wrong? Is it Blaine? Is he okay?" he was too distraught to be upset by the fact that his voice climbed a few octaves causing him to squeak out his questions.

"He's at the nurse's office, waiting for you."

'_Breathe, if it was really bad he wouldn't still be here at the school.'_

"He asked for me? What happened?"

"Yes and maybe you can find out. He claims it was an accident, but…" he trailed off, leaving Kurt eager to find Blaine. "Kurt, do you know anything about any of this? Is he being bullied?"

"People… don't really understand what's going on with him so they've been pretty cruel. He never says anything but," he looked somber, "I know that it gets to him. That's why I brought him to Glee club; I just wanted him to feel safe. I honestly had no idea he could sing though too."

"If there's anything I can do to help-" Mr. Schue began walking Kurt to the doors as other students began averting their attention to their conversation.

"I'll let you know. I should go. Thanks, Mr. Schue," Kurt took off without waiting for a reply, worried he would become too engrossed in conversation and leave Blaine in lonely anticipation.

'_I should have just left my things in Mr. Moreau's class and ran after him,'_ his thoughts acquiesced, hand flying to his mouth again in the same self-comforting gesture. _'Nurse's office, I wonder what could have happened.'_

Kurt had been so deep in thought that he didn't realize Blaine was still standing outside of the office… until he walked right into him. Blaine recoiled unsteadily, trying hard to keep his balance.

"Gosh, I'm so sorry! Oh, Blaine," he felt his entire body slump down with his frown as he examined the other boy. He looked, for lack of a better word, ghastly. Plain and simple as that.

"Hey, Kurt," his fatigue seeped into his words as he spoke, his voice resonating in a tired whisper. Kurt noticed the tremors in his hands- oh god his hand!

"Honey, what happened? Mr. Schue didn't tell me much."

"I- someone closed my locker and my hand- it was an accident-"

Kurt continued to gape at Blaine's hand and sensed bile beginning to creep up his throat.

"Was it really an accident?" he tried hard to keep calm, biting back the urge to reduce himself to panicked yelling.

He was angry, but not at Blaine; he was frustrated because he knew it couldn't have been an accident. Not with the way that Blaine was trembling, so much so that it affected the quality of the intimidated words falling from his lips.

"Blaine, who was it?" Kurt tried a different approach when he received no response to his prior question.

Blaine redirected the conversation entirely though.

"I still haven't gone inside, I'm… what would I even say? If it's broken I can't- I don't have the money for a," he sniffled loudly between words, the entire statement leaving him winded, "doctor or the hospital. What am I going to do?"

Sheer bloody panic fortified the weight of his confession; Kurt had never witnessed a breakdown like this from Blaine before and it took all of his willpower to keep from weeping at the miserable sight before him.

"It'll be okay, I'll help you. I'll help you figure something out," Kurt placed a hand on Blaine's shoulder, an innocent and reassuring gesture, but it seemed to do wonders in calming the distressed boy. Momentarily, at least.

"Let's go in and see what she says. Maybe it won't be that bad," Kurt encouraged, not entirely believing the latter of his statements.

Blaine appeared catatonic at this point and Kurt was required to lead him into the office, pulling on his arm as though he was a bashful child. He took careful note of the way his heart broke in half, hanging pathetically in his chest with a lingering sorrow he only remembered experiencing when his mother passed away.

Obviously the two situations weren't very comparable. But here was his heart in opposition of such a claim. Strong opposition.

They took a seat and waited.

Kurt fumbled with his scarf momentarily before relocating to Blaine's right. Without hesitation his hand found Blaine's uninjured one, gently caressing the surface rather than intertwining the two.

Blaine didn't acknowledge the action but Kurt let himself believe it was appreciated and altruistic.

The entire visit lasted less than half an hour. Mostly they waited. It was quickly decided within the last five minutes that Blaine's hand was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, broken. And to make matters worse-

"I don't seem to have any contact information for your parents, Miss Anderson."

"My name's Blaine," Kurt heard him mumble, "And they're both at work, I forgot to take down their new work numbers after we moved out here."

"Is there anyone else I can contact?"

"No. No one. Can't I just sign myself out?" the simple task of talking seemed to be draining Blaine, in Kurt's opinion.

"I'd prefer it if someone came to get you."

"I'll sign us out and take him to the hospital," Kurt interjected suddenly, earning different reactions from both parties; Mrs. Sayers, the nurse, seemed satisfied while Blaine silently opposed the idea of a hospital visit in the form of an incredulous glare in Kurt's direction.

Kurt shot Blaine a warning look, urging him not to protest to the idea while still in the presence of Mrs. Sayers. He would simply have to deal with convincing Blaine to let him take them to the hospital once they left school.

* * *

Blaine circled the coffee table anxiously while Kurt spoke on the phone in the kitchen. Despite Kurt's insistence that they go to the hospital Blaine refused to budge on the subject, which lead them to the present scenario at Kurt's house. He wasn't sure if he had fooled anybody with his claim of his parents' work numbers being unavailable to him, but Kurt hadn't questioned him about it once they got into his car.

In actuality, he hadn't seen or spoken to his parents in nearly a year and a half.

If this information was made available to the school though an investigation would be launched and he feared he would most likely end up in foster care. Though there was a possibility it could be safer than the seedy motel he currently occupied, it was a chance he wasn't quite sure he was willing to take. He knew the stigmas associated with the foster care system, with gay kids in the system; he knew he would be more than an easy target being transgender _and_ gay.

After a few moments of restless wandering around the living room he stood to the side of the opening to the kitchen, trying to listen in on Kurt's conversation. He was speaking in hurried whispers, clearly very concerned. It was strange for Blaine to experience, being so used to discrimination.

He'd become so accustomed to being terrorized and victimized.

"Dad, his hand is broken. And I think someone purposely did it…"

Blaine only caught broken fragments of the conversation.

"…I'm going to try…"

Blaine looked down at his hand, slid his lower lip beneath his top row of teeth and chewed. He couldn't deny that he needed a doctor. He also couldn't deny that, without insurance, he was going to need to dish out an indecent amount of money for the visit. His mind began jumping to thoughts of home remedies. Maybe he'd be able to set and wrap his hand on his own; after all, what did people do before doctors, right?

The thought dissipated as quickly as it appeared.

He needed his hands, both of them. Relied on them to fully explore and enjoy his passions. It'd be foolish to try to mend his hand on his own. And maybe the visit wouldn't _completely _drain what was left of his inheritance and the little bit of money he'd had leftover from last week's paycheck.

'_Oh god, how am I going to work now?'_

He crossed the living room and sat on the sofa, trying desperately to allow himself at least a second of peace rather than constantly panic. The possibility that he'd lose his job though was enough to bring him to the brink of a panic attack.

An incendiary thought scorched his brain in an instant.

'_Do __**not**__ let Kurt see you like this.'_

As he began to stand up to relocate Kurt entered the room, speaking as he walked. Blaine tried to hold his breath, tried to collect himself. All of it was futile. He spent so much time keeping himself together, even in solitude, that he rarely allowed himself time for a proper emotional cleanse. The evidence of that was now made apparent.

"My dad said you can spend the night here after the hospital if you- Oh god, are you going to faint? Sit down," it was obvious that Kurt was clueless in regards to a course of action, but at least he was trying.

The presence of Kurt's pure sincerity granted Blaine a few shallow gasps of air. He took his seat again, self-conscious embarrassment washing over him; he had never exposed anyone to such vulnerability before. It left him feeling naked and afraid.

"Is it because of your hand? Does it hurt that badly?" Kurt knew that he should have driven straight to the hospital from school, but their friendship was still in a state of delicacy. The last thing he wanted to do was betray Blaine's wary trust in him.

They were both suffering now because of it.

Blaine parted his knees and let his head hang low between them. He wasn't sure if this was the right way to go about dealing with his current dilemma, but a flickering voice from the depths of his mind whispered, "Believe in me… I think you saw this on a medical drama once."

"Blaine, is it because of your hand? Please, can we- we need to go to the hospital. I don't know how to help you here," Kurt was desperate. Pleading. Frightened.

It had not been Blaine's intention to lead Kurt into such a state of panic, but here they were. It almost felt unfair that he had to base his decision on which option would calm Kurt, but he supposed that was what friendship meant, wasn't it?

Blaine offered a weak nod, uncertain of his ability to speak. Kurt sprang into action.

"Do you need help getting to the car?"

Blaine waved him off. He knew better than to look up while Kurt was still inside; he could just picture the expression the boy was probably wearing, one that would make Blaine sway on his decision to move on his own.

"I'll start the car," Kurt lingered on the last word, drawing it out with his slow strides towards the front door. Blaine nodded again, remained in the same position. He could hear the sigh leave Kurt's lips before the lock clicked and the door swung open.

The sun had gone and so had Kurt.

Blaine lifted his head to the sound of thunder. While Kurt's offer to help was definitely tempting he feared what those seemingly innocent touches would do to him. Not to say he feared Kurt would harm him, that was a definite impossibility. But his heart performed back flips at that offer, knowing full well the presence of Kurt's hands anywhere on him would do quite the opposite in allowing him to forget all about this silly "crush" business. Those fingertips would send shockwaves straight to every sensory nerve in his body.

He just didn't possess the stamina to battle with thoughts of that sort in his current state.

Kurt appeared in the doorway again, the worry lines on his face prominent. So very noticeable. Blaine made his way over before he'd have to fight off Kurt's eager-to-help hands.

"Before you ask, yes I'm sure I don't need any help," he spoke softly when Kurt opened his mouth. He watched the same mouth snap shut again. "I could see it in your eyes before you even started to speak."

Kurt merely offered a humble smile in return.

The two took off towards the car and Kurt drove them to the hospital.

* * *

Blaine wasn't sure how long they had taken at the hospital, but it was dark when they returned to the Hummel residence. He almost didn't agree to the sleepover; his tired eyes strongly protested to the idea of opposition though. He was still riding the final wave of morphine coursing through his veins from the hospital. He would have to wait until morning to fill the prescription for vicodin resting safely in his satchel.

They warned Blaine it might be difficult to get through the night. Being on cloud nine had its benefits and its hindrances, the latter being his decision to ignore the doctors while they explained all of this to him. He couldn't wipe the dazed expression off of his face if he tried. And he certainly wasn't going to be trying much of anything any time soon.

His mind was beginning to drift until a taller figure all but materialized in their midst. A baseball cap covered his head despite probably having been home for hours. Blaine's initial reaction was to feel extremely intimidated.

"How are you, Blaine? I'm Burt. Kurt's told me a lot about you," despite the sincere greeting, Blaine couldn't help but still feel threatened. Perhaps that was the morphine though.

"He's a little out of it, dad. I was going to take him downstairs."

Given the nature of the circumstances Burt wasn't sure if this was considered inappropriate or not. Kurt informed him that Blaine was a boy but had the unfortunate luck of being born a girl. The situation left Burt's head spinning, desperate to settle with one side of his inner turmoil.

Kurt seemed to be waiting for acknowledgment still.

"So, does she- er he- is he… straight?" he stumbled over the question, knowing he butchered not only the proper use of the English language but also any hope of subtlety.

Kurt frowned, either in disappointment or because he genuinely didn't possess an answer to present to his father. Luckily…

"I like boys. I'm gay," Blaine bluntly offered, still not completely guarding himself because of the medication.

"Uhh, no funny business then, you two," the statement felt strange leaving his lips. He figured nothing would happen. Between Blaine's hand injury and what Kurt had told him about the boy he guessed his son wasn't attracted to Blaine… that way.

Or maybe Kurt saw past the female anatomy of his friend.

Burt's head was spinning again. A gay, male son he could deal with. He wasn't prepared for the complications Blaine presented.

"Really, dad?" Kurt rolled his eyes dramatically, "This way, Blaine."

Burt took notice of Blaine's expression as Kurt placed his hand on Blaine's shoulder. He seemed hesitant to believe that the touch wouldn't harm him in any way, flinched even at the initial contact before allowing Kurt to steer them towards the basement door.

Burt couldn't help the onslaught of sympathy that overtook him as he watched; this kid, this poor kid, looked far too frightened and beaten down for a young soul of sixteen years.

For a frightening moment he envisioned how helpless he would feel if Kurt was the one in Blaine's position and realized the sorrow in his heart was just as strong for this stranger as it would be for his own son. '_No one,'_ especially a friend of his son, '_should have to suffer like that,'_ he thought.

There was something else though.

Burt recognized the adoration in Blaine's eyes directed at Kurt as he watched his son lead him away. This both worried him and, to an extent, relieved him. Kurt deserved someone who could see him for the star that he was; Burt believed, in that brief meeting, that Blaine recognized just how wonderful his son was. The part that worried him though was the mechanics of how a relationship between the two could even function properly if that same look of adoration meant Blaine viewed Kurt in a romantic light.

Burt was always going to defend and respect Kurt's decisions, but he couldn't deny that he was already beginning to feel strongly protective over Blaine, over the friendship between Blaine and his son. He hoped that even if Kurt didn't return those romantic feelings the two would at least still be friends.

He crossed the living room to climb the stairs to his bedroom. Sleep would not visit to whisk him away to some serene dream escape that night though.

Unbeknownst to Burt, his son was in a similar scenario two floors below.

* * *

_He pulled at the pink sundress that fit too snugly around his chest. Even without a bra he felt suffocated, uncomfortable._

'_This isn't me,' he wanted to scream. 'Why do I have to wear this?'_

"_Gracie, stop playing with your dress. You'll wrinkle it," his mother scolded._

"_Why can't I just wear my jeans? I hate stupid dresses…" he mumbled, snapping a hair tie against his wrist._

"_Because you're a young lady and you're going to present yourself as one. This dinner is very important for your father so don't screw it up for him," her voice was beginning to shift towards anger._

"_Gracie" pulled at the dress again around his bust, pressed against his breasts and tried to pretend they were flat. Every second more spent wearing it lead to another hair tie SNAP! against his wrist. He hated this. More than anything._

_He snuck away upstairs as his mother turned away to resume cooking. On nights like tonight, "important business dinner parties," his mother took to hiding his jeans and t-shirts. Only dresses, ironed to perfection, hung in the small white closet of his much-too-bubblegum-pink-room. He tried desperately to cover the walls with posters of sports teams, Disney films, Broadway musicals, and various male celebrities. _

_He walked straight past his room, determined to hunt down at least one pair of jeans and a t-shirt. His parents' room was "off-limits," or so they tried to instill in him, but he never heeded any warning and with both of them home at once the door was actually unlocked. He slipped inside, exercising extreme caution, and tip toed over to the walk-in closet. _

_The door creaked as he opened it, sounding too loud in the stillness of the room. He cringed, looked over his shoulder and found no one. He directed his attention back to the closet and breathed a solitary sigh of relief when he discovered all of his favourite clothes piled in the middle of the closet. Hastily, he plucked up a pair of ripped blue jeans and a slightly oversized Wicked t-shirt before sprinting into the hallway bathroom._

_There, he shut the door and quickly stepped into the jeans before he violently pulled the dress over his head, taking great pride in the sound of ripping fabric that reverberated against the tiled wall nearest the bathtub. He flung the mirrored medicine cabinet open and dug around for an Ace bandage to bind his breasts with. In his frenzied hunt he hadn't notice the door open, having forgotten to lock it, or his father standing, wide eyed, at the door. _

"_What the hell are you doing?"_

_His blood ran cold and he froze for only a moment before kneeling down and reaching for the t-shirt on the musty rug. His father snatched it up before he could grab it._

"_Dad, no, give it to me!" He crossed his arms over his bare chest, terror overtaking him more than embarrassment._

"_Put your dress back on, I'm not dealing with you being a- a fucking dyke. Not tonight. Just this once, can't you stop being difficult and think of me? Of us?"_

"_I'm not a lesbian! I'm a boy!" Tears stung his eyes as the confession left his lips in a shrill, panicked shriek and he stood up, still covering his chest, "Now give me back my shirt, I'm not wearing that dress-"_

_A rugged and heavy hand swiftly connected with his left cheek, knocking him backwards against the protruding windowsill. They had never hit him before. His father had never been this angry before. He could practically see the steam leaking out of his father's nostrils, convoluting the image he presented as "human being" with "angry bull."_

"_Gracie" stood completely still, the windowsill digging into his spine, as he kept his eyes on his father. There was no remorse in those eyes._

"_Now put your dress on and behave, for God's sake."_

_He left and "Gracie" collapsed, tremors spreading to each of his extremities. He kept his arms folded tight over his chest; he dreaded spending the evening in another dress but the apprehension of being hit again left him feeling far more dismayed. He wasn't aware just how hard his father slapped him until he managed to stand and look in the mirror; his cheek looked as though he had a bad case of sunburn on only one side of his face. _

_He quickly swiped one of his father's shaving razors and an Ace bandage from the medicine cabinet and slunk away to his room. This time he remembered to lock the door. He skillfully wrapped the bandage around his chest, binding his breasts down before he sat on the floor and leaned against the bed. He arched his back until he was able to slide his jeans down enough to unveil his thighs, covered in thick, raised pink scars. Some were vertically in perfect alignment, others crisscrossed or stood alone in jagged anguish; they had all gone unseen by "Gracie's" father._

_He twirled the shaving razor slowly between his fingers in silent contemplation. Each scar had been done while being forced to wear a dress, this would be the first time he had the compulsion to harm himself in response to pain he hadn't inflicted on himself. He leaned his head back against the bed, tried to talk himself down as always before he actually... did anything. _

_It was when he started to finally feel calm when the rhythmic pummeling against his door began, followed by his father's threats. He dropped the shaving razor and embraced himself, pulling his knees as close to his chest as humanly possible. Each thud sent a shudder throughout his entire being; bile rose up in his throat and hitching sobs began to wrack his body until-_

Blaine was aware of the pain in his hand before he actually felt it. Sweat shone brightly on his face in the moonlight, the product of the fierce nightmare he had just woken from. The unfamiliarity of the room did little to ease him into a sense of normalcy.

This wasn't his bed; these weren't his things; this wasn't his room.

'_Where the hell am I?'_

The hiss of pain that came from his mouth was both involuntary and overdrawn, attracting the attention of his fair skinned and exhausted friend on the other side of the room.

'_Oh right. Kurt's. I'm at Kurt's.'_

"Are you alright? Did you have a bad dream?" Kurt didn't want to make it known to Blaine that he had been talking in his sleep. At this point he realized how easily embarrassed Blaine became over everything, but some of the things he'd overheard left Kurt feeling both confused and even more sympathetic. Predictably though, Blaine avoided the topic.

"What time is it?" Blaine asked, groggy and stiff.

"Just about five in the morning. I was going to wake you up around eight for breakfast," Kurt appeared to be on the edge of his armchair, prepared to dash over at any moment.

"Is it too early to eat now? Food actually sounds really great," Blaine shifted uncomfortably on the much-too-big-bed that he wasn't used to and tried to coax his joints into popping in all of the right places. His chest felt tight; normally he slept without his binder on. He had made the mistake in the past and was now remembering the repercussions of it.

Kurt, unaware of Blaine's discomfort, became rejuvenated at the request for breakfast. Blaine suddenly wondered just how long Kurt had already been awake.

"What would you like? I can make pretty much anything, I love to cook," the energy Kurt suddenly possessed was dizzying to Blaine.

"Oh, I don't know. Whatever you think is good. Where's your bathroom?" he tried to discreetly pull at his binder with his good hand, the flaring around his ribs dulling the pain in his injured hand momentarily.

Kurt pretended not to notice and pointed past the left of the bed, already running through breakfast options in his head. "Do you need a change of clothes? I think we might be around the same size."

"Oh, um," Blaine tried to keep from faltering, failing at keeping his emotions in check at the thought of wearing Kurt's clothes, "Yeah. Yeah, please. That would be… nice."

"Oh thank god, I thought I'd have to fight to convince you to change," Kurt sighed, a light laugh dancing away from his throat as he spoke.

He rested a hand on his chin, fingers crooked, as he studied Blaine for a moment. Before Blaine could ask why he was staring Kurt had began piecing together an outfit on the bed. He felt himself become, what he imagined, a deep scarlet when Kurt placed a pair of clean boxers down.

"I'll be upstairs, the kitchen's easy enough to find. If you want to shower go right ahead; shout if you need any help," Blaine was starting to wonder if Kurt's smile was a permanent aspect of his demeanor.

"Do you have any Advil?" Blaine raked the clothes close to his body with one hand.

"For your hand? Well, we still have that prescription to fill. Think you can hold out until then? I just don't know if you should take Advil before-"

Blaine was nodding before Kurt could finish, "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that."

"Well, don't apologize, silly," flawless, toothy grin in place, "Are you going to try to shower? We can go after you get dressed."

"Yeah, think I'm going to. I'll see you upstairs in a few minutes," Blaine shook his unruly curls from his eyes, having been freed from the thick layer of gel he used daily to tame them into submission.

Kurt ascended the steps and Blaine stumbled out of bed, padding over to the bathroom. He whispered a rushed "thank you" to no one in particular for having bought a proper binder because using an ace bandage with one hand would have been absolute torture.

He shut the door and locked it, as a precaution, before working his wrinkled shirt over his head. He normally avoided his reflection when he wasn't fully dressed but it was impossible to do so in Kurt's bathroom. A full-length mirror stood against the wall and to the right of it was a vanity with more skin care products than Blaine had ever seen a single person possess.

He turned his head away before tugging on the zipper in the center of his binder. He knew he should probably assess the damage it may have left from being worn for so long but he couldn't face himself, especially not after that dream. He draped a towel over the full-length mirror before stripping completely and stepped into the shower.


	5. Chapter 4: Part Of Your World

Author's Note: As always, reviews are appreciated but not necessary. If you like what you see though, please let me know and anyone that's still sticking through this thank you very, very much.

Et... commencer!

Caught In The Lie

Chapter 4: Part Of Your World

Kurt had just finished pouring a cup of milk into a large metallic bowl on the kitchen counter containing pancake mix when his father walked in. Burt's surprise was clearly evident on his face; he normally occupied the kitchen alone this early in the morning.

"You're up early, buddy," Burt strode over to the coffee pot, thankful Kurt had already left a fresh brew waiting for him.

"Couldn't sleep," Kurt started mixing the pancake batter and Burt thought it strange how there didn't appear to be an ounce of tiredness on his son's face. "You look exhausted, dad," Kurt furrowed his brow and frowned.

"Didn't sleep either. What about Blaine? You guys stay up all night?" Burt began pouring a considerable amount of sugar into his mug while Kurt stared and crinkled his nose.

Kurt eventually shook his head after a moment, "No, he slept. But he had nightmares through most of the night."

Burt tasted his coffee and scowled at the bitterness still present. He opened the fridge and extracted a nearly empty carton of French vanilla creamer, his morning saviour. "About what?"

"He avoided talking about it when I asked, like he usually does. It's impossible to get anything out of that boy, I swear," Kurt sighed and started spooning pancake batter into a large frying pan.

Despite Kurt's frustrations Burt couldn't help but allow the subtlest of smiles to sneak onto his face. He could see how much Kurt cared about this boy and if he was important to Kurt then he was important to Burt as well. He sipped his coffee again and, satisfied finally with the flavour, put away the creamer.

"Are you both going to school today?"

Kurt glanced at his father over his shoulder; his hair fell backwards in one graceful swoop. "Can I stay home?" he feigned a few brazenly obvious fake coughs, "I'm sick."

Burt rolled his eyes and dug around the fridge for the carton of eggs buried deeply behind a stack of leftover containers, "What do Blaine's parents say about it?"

"I dunno," Kurt's playful smile faded, "I'll have to ask him about it once he comes up. I don't know that he's even called them yet, he doesn't have a cell phone."

"A kid your age without a cell phone? Well, there's a shocker," he took four eggs from the brown carton, "See what Blaine's parents say about him staying then we'll decide for you."

"I can't imagine they'll force him to go to school with a broken hand, can you?" Burt shook his head in response. "Though, I still haven't met them so I'm not sure what they would or wouldn't make him do."

"Did she… he go back to sleep? I can ask since you're so busy playing master chef," Burt internally reprimanded himself for the pronoun slipup.

"Should be showering. He'll probably be up soon. Do you want me to cook those eggs for you?"

"Thanks, buddy," Burt patted the back of Kurt's shoulder, "By the way, your pancakes are burning."

Kurt screeched and turned his attention back to the stove. Burt took the opportunity to slip out of the kitchen and down the stairs to Kurt's room. The bathroom door was still shut and the light shone brightly from underneath, but he couldn't hear the shower going.

"Blaine?" he tested.

"Yeah?" the response came quickly. Blaine sounded startled.

"Just wanted to check up on you. Kurt told me you don't have a cell phone, do you want me to call your parents while you're getting ready and explain what happened?"

"Uh, n-no, that's alright. I can call them later."

"Do you uh… are you alright in there? Must be hard to do everything with one hand," Burt suggested awkwardly.

"I'm fine, thanks," Blaine held his breath at the end of the statement, hoping Burt would buy it and leave him in solitude again as he tried to style his thick curls. Out of everything in Kurt's bathroom he couldn't find anything remotely close to the maximum hold hair gel he required. "I'll be out in a minute."

He sighed softly and toweled his hair briefly, resigning to fix it once he made it "home." He pushed open the door, expecting to be alone, but was surprised to find Burt still standing there. He was starting to forget how to interact with adults. Let alone parents. Let alone the father of the boy he was quite possibly falling in love with (as much as he refused to admit to it.) For the moment he stood silently and pretended to adjust his shirt.

"Kurt's making pancakes upstairs. Just wait til you try them. Out of this world," Burt smiled and Blaine thought it seemed… out of place. It was nothing like the natural beam that was always occupying Kurt's face; his mother must have been the one responsible for the trait. Blaine nodded and muttered a nervous, "Okay, thank you."

"Kurt's probably going to be staying home from school today. My guess is to make sure you're okay. So if you want to use the phone to call your folks and see what they say you're more than welcome to hang out here."

Blaine nodded again knowing full well that he wouldn't be calling anyone at all. And whom was the school going to call if he didn't show up anyways? No one. He would survive breakfast with the Hummels before asking to…

Fuck.

He discovered the flaw in his plan as it was unfolding in his head. He couldn't exactly ask to be dropped off at the motel, Kurt would never let him leave without asking a thousand questions or trying to force his way after him. There was only so much that Blaine could explain away before Kurt finally called him out on all of it, he was aware of that.

As Burt watched him Blaine tried to formulate a new plan. This was definitely far too much to be considering so early in the morning.

"Are you going to be staying home as well?"

"Haven't decided yet," Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "Would be nice, but I dunno if I can."

Blaine could do nothing but nod again before he resumed his shirt-wrenching nervous gesture. Burt suggested they go upstairs, after noticing Blaine's discomfort, and Blaine followed him up. Kurt already had a stack of pancakes waiting on the kitchen table and was now cooking the eggs Burt had handed him. He turned to face the two of them upon hearing them walk in.

"Wow, Blaine. Your hair- "

"I couldn't find any hair gel. It looks awful, I know," Blaine fisted his thick curls as he mumbled the response.

"I was going to say it looks better without the gel shield you usually suffocate it in. The curls suit you," Kurt grinned as Blaine blushed and took a seat. "How's your hand?"

"Oh, it um- it doesn't hurt too bad right now," Kurt raised an eyebrow and frowned at him, "Alright, it does hurt a little. I didn't want you to feel rushed though."

"I can drop off the prescription on my way to work and you kids can pick it up later when it's ready. I should have left about ten minutes ago anyways," Burt interjected as he picked out a plastic container to store his breakfast in.

"Are you sure, dad? It's out of the way for you."

"Yeah, you two enjoy your breakfast. Blaine looks like he's trying to wake up still anyway," Burt poured the coffee from his chipped black mug into a metal travel mug and snapped the lid on. "Coffee, Blaine?"

"Oh, I've never had it before actually," Blaine admitted. "I _have_ always loved the way it smells though."

"Do you want to try some?" Kurt made a motion towards the pot but Burt beat him to it with a clean mug in hand. Kurt laughed and Blaine felt the faintest of smiles tug at his lips.

"Sure."

Kurt spooned scrambled eggs into the container Burt picked out and neatly stacked two pancakes beside them as his father poured coffee. "Tastes awful without- " Blaine didn't wait to hear the rest before taking a sip. He scrunched up his face in disgust once he managed to swallow the bitterness down. Even he couldn't help but join in on Kurt and Burt's laugher that followed soon after.

"I tried to warn you, kid," Burt passed a jar of sugar towards Blaine and removed the French vanilla creamer from the fridge once more. "What's the phrase? Listen to your elders?"

"I think it's 'Respect your elders,' but I see your point. God," Blaine laughed out the last word, "that really _is _awful." He picked up the creamer and kept pouring until the coffee colour closely resembled his pale beige skin tone.

Burt smiled and swiped the to-go container off of the counter. "See you kids later. Call me to let me know what's going on, okay Kurt?"

"Okay, dad. Bye."

They hugged briefly and Burt held on just a little longer than he usually did. They were never a pair to constantly exchange 'I love you's between each other, and that was fine. That was the way their relationship functioned. And when Kurt pulled back and searched his father's eyes he knew what Burt had been trying to convey through the extra few seconds of lingering contact. Kurt smiled softly as his father retreated and left through the front door before he joined Blaine at the table. Blaine was quiet. He seemed to revert back to his usual presence as he took tentative sips of his much-sweeter-now-coffee.

"Are you going to call your parents to let them know what happened? They must be worried," Kurt tested the topic, speaking hesitantly as he forked a pancake onto his plate.

"I called when I was downstairs, they said they would call in for me and that I could meet them at the pharmacy if I wanted to go home," Blaine kept his eyes on the table. If he actually had the courage to look at Kurt as he spoke he knew he would stumble over his lie.

"I can drop you off at home after we pick up your prescription. That would probably be easier, don't you think?" Blaine could tell by Kurt's tone of voice that he was suspicious. While he was sure it wasn't Kurt's intention he felt very much like a criminal being interrogated.

"You don't want me to meet them, do you?" Kurt presented Blaine with an excuse he had not thought of using. He tried to sound as nervous and upset about the "delicate approach of introducing you" as he could as he explained. One day, they would meet. Just not _to_day. Blaine held his breath as he waited for Kurt's reaction.

"You could have just said that, you know. I know not everyone's parents are like my dad."

"I'm just… not used to having to introduce them to my friends. It's been awhile," Blaine offered, which wasn't far from the truth. When he was living at home he never knew how to gauge his parents' reactions to the type of people he wanted to bring home. While he never had many friends it didn't mean he never had any at all. After each one of them had been picked up by their parents though after an afternoon play date Blaine's parents launched a discussion over things they didn't like about them.

'A boy playing with dolls? Why can't you find any nice little girls to play with?'

'Her parents are divorced; the girl will probably grow up with emotional problems. You don't need to associate with people from broken homes.'

Wanting to prevent into his parents' constant discrimination though, Blaine stopped inviting friends over after school. It was of their own volition that they decided to stop being friendly with him whilst at school as well. Whether it was their own decisions that he was dubbed the "class freak" or they unconsciously drifted into different crowds Blaine would never know. Needless to say, sometimes he still wondered what happened to the boy that played dress up with him and acted out house scenes using only Ken dolls. He couldn't even remember the boy's name.

"I didn't mean to insult you in any way. I hope you don't think it means I don't want to be your friend or that I'm embarrassed by you," he was starting to forget that he was lying about his parents, falling into that same mindset of explaining why he couldn't introduce people to them as a child. "They can be so cruel and… they easily judge and misunderstand. I don't want them to think or say awful things about you."

He was a natural actor and Kurt appeared to buy into the entire charade.

"Fine, that's fine, Blaine. See how much easier things are when you actually explain them though? You don't have to keep _everything_ a secret, you can trust me," the emphasis Kurt put on "everything" sounded like pleading to Blaine which only increased his sense of guilt.

"I know. Well, I mean… now I do, I guess."

"We should probably finish up so we can go pick up your painkillers."

Blaine nodded in agreement and they spent the rest of their breakfast eating in silence. Neither of them seemed to mind though; Blaine welcomed the gentle peace lulling about the room. After Kurt piled the plates in the sink they drove to CVS and Blaine insisted on going in alone. Kurt reluctantly bid him farewell and said he hoped to see him at school the next day before driving away. Blaine, eager to get "home," walked inside without so much as a second glance at Kurt's car.

He took a deep breath as he walked up to the pharmacy counter, braced himself for how much the Vicodin would come out to and contemplated if it was even worth buying. But it was too late to turn away now; the pharmacist had already taken notice of him.

"I'm here to pick up a prescription. The last name is Anderson."

"We've got a few of those. ID please?" the woman behind the counter looked pretty young and unusually cheerful considering how early in the morning it was.

"I have a student ID, will that work?"

"As long as everything matches up."

Blaine dug through his satchel for his wallet and nervously presented his recently acquired McKinley high school ID. The pharmacist smiled and took it, typed a few things into the computer and handed Blaine his ID back along with a paper bag.

"$17.99."

He thought he heard incorrectly but didn't voice his disbelief. Instead he handed over his debit card and tried not to seem desperate to take a pill right at that moment. The pain in his hand had gradually been increasing all morning and it was to the point where he thought he might burst into tears if he didn't allow himself some relief.

He signed the receipt, picked up the bag and headed back out to the parking lot. Despite being mid-October the temperature seemed to be ahead of the calendar, making it feel like early December instead. Immediately his teeth began chattering violently and he buried his face in the collar of his coat. The fabric wasn't nearly warm enough to offer any sort of real protection from the icy air. He tried to keep from calculating the actual time it would take to walk "home" as opposed to driving. Twenty minute drive. That meant at least a two-hour walk. Two hours of bitter, skin piercing cold. It would be a miracle if he escaped without catching pneumonia.

Blaine began the trek "home," desperate for the Gryffindor scarf he left in his room. He made a mental note to start keeping it in his satchel from now on for instances such as these. He had just made it to the end of the parking lot when a car horn beeped once beside him. Figuring it couldn't possibly have anything to do with him, Blaine kept his eyes ahead. The horn blared again, this time longer than the initial abrupt light _beep!_ and he turned his head on instinct.

"Come on, get in," Kurt's driver side window was rolled down and his cheeks were already bright pink from the short exposure to the wind. "I'm not letting you walk, come on," he pulled off to the side to keep out of the way of traffic and looked at Blaine. Anxiety and eagerness seemed to coexist and dance uneasily in his eyes.

Blaine knew he could have argued all he wanted, could have tried to stumble his way through another half-assed attempt of a lie… but the truth of the matter was he was just too tired, too cold, and in too much pain to put in such an effort. He sprinted the length of the cracked white crosswalk between them and silently climbed into the passenger seat.

"Are you going to tell me where you live or should I just drive back to my house and make us some hot chocolate to enjoy by the fire?" Despite the sincerity behind the offer Blaine knew Kurt wasn't actually giving him a choice. No matter what he answered he knew they were going to end up back at the Hummel's where Kurt would, no doubt, try everything he could to take care of him. The hot chocolate seemed tempting at least. The inevitable doting on Kurt's part though…

"Your house," Blaine replied in a small half-whisper.

"Good answer. You need help with the seat belt again?"

Still somewhat resilient, Blaine tried to buckle himself in on his own. He could feel Kurt's eyes on him as he struggled but it only made him more determined to prove _'No, thank you very much, but I can take care of myself.'_ He was doing a poor job of representing it at the moment though.

"Here, sometimes it's tricky," Kurt leaned over and easily snapped it into place. _'Not tricky at all,' _Blaine's mind immediately offered. "And away we go!"

Kurt drove off and soon they were back on the road Blaine had been coming to know so well. Kurt seemed to be in a better mood on the ride back to the house, humming and drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. Blaine kept quiet, as per usual, and watched Kurt out of the corner of his eye. After a mere five minutes though Kurt reverted back to serious mode and the question Blaine had been dreading since he saw rosy cheeked Kurt back in the parking lot bounced off of the windows and reverberated throughout the car.

"So… are you going to explain what that was about?"

"Kurt- " Desperation was so unbelievably present in the only word Blaine was able to get out.

"Because if I didn't know any better I'd say you're lying to me about your parents altogether," Kurt glanced at him quickly before focusing on the road again.

"It's… complicated, okay? I don't want to talk about it."

"Are you living on your own?"

"Kurt, I don't want to talk about it," defeat crawled through every broken crack in his words making him sound more upset rather than angry with Kurt's persistence.

"Why can't you trust me yet?" Kurt still sounded patient and calm, despite the rising tension between them.

"I don't trust anyone."

"Why?"

"Kurt, please just stop- " Desperate, desperate, so-very-desperate-Blaine countered with.

"Why don't you trust anyone? What happened, Blaine?"

"Stop the car, I want to get out," Blaine was tottering along the brink of nausea at this point.

"You can't keep avoiding everything that's difficult to talk about and running from people that are only trying to help!"

Blaine bit his lip, hard, and tried to will the tears threatening to fall back into his tear ducts. He blamed how easily he was reduced to a sobbing mess on his body chemistry and manifested his hatred for the excessive amount of estrogen coursing through his veins in self-harm to bring forth endorphins just to stop crying. But he couldn't very well exercise such techniques currently with Kurt beside him. Poor concerned Kurt.

"I'm not trying to make you upset, Blaine. I just… I care about you and I want to help. I want you to feel like you can trust me because there's no way you can handle all of this on your own. It's too much. For anyone," Kurt unpretentiously offered. Blaine sniffled and nodded. Kurt hadn't really given him any reason _not_ to trust him, after all. "So I'll ask again… what was all of that about at the pharmacy?"

He hesitated, knowing full well that he had caught himself in his spider web of lies. If he kept trying to divert attention with more deceit he was only going to damage his friendship with Kurt.

"I," the words became caught in his throat momentarily and it took a few seconds to will any audible sounds out of it again. "My parents and I don't exactly get along," an understatement, but a true statement nonetheless. "Can we talk about this after we get to your house? I'll explain just… not right now. Please."

Blaine opened the paper bag containing his Vicodin and pulled out the small orange prescription bottle. He momentarily contemplated how he was going to open it but Kurt seemed to have thought ahead. Rather than respond to Blaine's plea, Kurt plucked the bottle from his hand and opened it for him. "Hold out your hand."

Blaine did as he was told and Kurt shook the bottle lightly until a pill tumbled out. He popped it into his mouth and swallowed before Kurt could offer him a sip of water from a bottle laying on the floor in the backseat.

"Just answer one thing for me right now and I'll drop it until we're back at the house."

Blaine nodded hesitantly.

"Do you live on your own?"

The silence that followed felt like years to Blaine and he wondered if he was testing Kurt's patience. "Yes."

Kurt's face softened and Blaine averted his attention to the green blurs outside of his window that were meant to be cornfields. Sympathy and empathy both looked exactly the same to him; both made him feel just as pathetic and small. He garnered enough unwanted attention the way it was. What he wouldn't give to blend in and go unnoticed. No more of those "your life seems so difficult, you poor thing" expressions or "are you really that confused about yourself?" Luckily, Kurt kept his word and the remainder of the car ride was spent in blissful, tastefully awkward, silence.

* * *

Kurt was piling comforters on the living room floor as Blaine placed a paper clad starter log into the fireplace. Kurt insisted he lay down and rest while he took care of everything but Blaine couldn't help but notice Kurt really had no idea what he was doing when it came to starting the fire. He forcefully stepped in as Kurt stared blankly between the box of long matchsticks and the log.

"Do you have some old newspaper?" Blaine removed a matchstick from the box and resisted the urge to repeatedly light others as he waited for Kurt to return. When Kurt had reappeared he kept a curious eye on Blaine as he rolled up a few pieces of newspaper and lit the end of it.

"Careful!" Kurt couldn't help but squeal, which brought such a relaxed smile to Blaine's normally tense face. Blaine slowly passed the newspaper under the unopened log until the flames began to envelope it and pick up a very Harry Potteresque bright green hue. He tactfully placed the newspaper atop the log and let the heat warm his face before closing the iron grate.

"I would have definitely burned myself trying," Kurt chimed in from behind and when Blaine turned to face him he noticed that Kurt was speaking from behind his hands, the fingers parted now ever so slightly so he could peek between the spaces. Blaine was briefly overtaken by the mental image of Kurt holding the long match as far away from himself as humanly possible as he tried to light the log. The mental projection ended with Kurt lighting the entire box of matches on fire instead and flinging them into the pit before kicking the grate shut. Yes, it was definitely a good thing Blaine was at least fearless in this regard.

"Okay, I'll go make some hot chocolate. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"

Blaine leaned his back against the sofa and pulled the Batman comforter beside him over his legs and up to his waist. The heat hadn't worked in the motel since he'd gotten there, nor had the air conditioner. Feeling cozy and homey was definitely a luxury he sorely missed.

Before he had much time to linger on what exactly he was going to decide to tell Kurt the taller boy was already back with two mugs in hand. Blaine watched him slowly drop to his knees before carefully extending a red mug, which he gratefully accepted. He forced a long, controlled breath over the rim in an attempt to cool down the rich liquid before he allowed himself a tentative sip. Mostly though, his eyes remained on Kurt. Once Kurt had settled himself in and they had both taken their initial sips Blaine knew he was out of time; he would have to start explaining. Kurt said nothing though, only stared back at him with expectant eyes, that revealed all he could be saying if he really wanted to, and a warm smile.

This was going to be much more difficult that Blaine initially thought.

"I don't really know where to start," Blaine said, truthfully.

"Start with why you're living on your own then we can go forward or backwards from there. Did you leave on your own or- "

"I was kicked out," he refrained from voicing the thought that followed _'Thrown away like last week's leftovers.'_ "They told me to 'clean up my act' and then I could come home."

"When was this?"

"The start of my sophomore year in Cleveland. I had just been outed at school and my parents told me they didn't want to move again just because I wouldn't "move past this phase you're in.' So… they sent me away. I went to five other schools in the Columbus area during the year before I came here to start as a junior," Blaine leaned his head back against the sofa cushion.

"How many schools have you been to altogether?" Kurt seemed hesitant to ask.

"Ten. Mainly they were different schools in the cities we were in. We didn't actually go to very many others. They stayed in Cleveland while I stayed with my grandma for a few months during the start of my sophomore year in Columbus," he still sounded disconnected from himself as he spoke, as though he was going through the motions of answering without allowing himself to emotionally catch up.

"She didn't want you to stay with her?"

"No, no she did. Despite everything that was going on she made sure I knew that she still loved me very much," Blaine groaned slightly during the last word as he decided against his slumped position and sat up straight again instead.

"So then why move here?" Kurt tilted his head ever so slightly. Something Blaine had been beginning to notice the more they spoke with each other at school. Whenever Kurt was presented with something perplexing he mimicked a kitten's curious head tilt.

"She… passed away pretty soon after I had come to live with her. She left me some money in her will and I stayed in Columbus as long as I could before I decided I needed to move somewhere else. I wanted to get out of the busier cities so I came here." Blaine wasn't sure how much longer he could take the tenderness of Kurt's expressions. He directed his attention to his mug and took a few sips as Kurt processed and, without a doubt, thought up new questions to ask. They sat in silence for a full minute before Kurt said anything.

"So where are you living now?" the voice behind the question was meek, almost uncharacteristically timid for Kurt Hummel.

"In Lima," Blaine said, "Isn't that obvious?"

"Not what I meant," Kurt replied with a hint of stern determination.

"I know," Blaine rested the mug on his thigh, "But I didn't agree to give away everything. You wanted an explanation and I gave you one."

Kurt redirected the topic and caught Blaine a little off-guard when, in response, he stated, "I can't believe they would do something like that. You're their child." He was fully prepared to argue with Kurt and dance around the topic of his current address, but the mention of his parents' incredulous actions paired with Kurt's disbelieving sympathy were enough to send him on a bitter spiral down memory lane.

"Unless I was 'daddy's little girl' they wanted no part of me," he managed through gritted teeth, clearly feeling cheated and scorned. "I don't need them."

"So… is it okay to talk about your… transitioning now? That's the proper term for it, right?" Kurt blindsided him once again with the abrupt topic change.

Blaine's entire body became visibly tense at the request. They both sat in silence again, mutually waiting for the other to make the first conversational move. Blaine continued to study his hot chocolate, mulling over the possible consequences of actually discussing his constant afflictions with someone else. Kurt had proven himself pretty trustworthy so far… but Blaine wasn't sure that was enough. Then again, no one had really bothered to ask so sincerely, so pure-heartedly curious, before.

"Maybe that was sort of out of line- " Kurt began once the silence had started to become too much for him to take anymore.

"It's the right term," Blaine interrupted before he could lose his courage. "I'll only do this once, so what do you want to know?" he came off sounding unintentionally hostile but Kurt, being the clever and understanding being that he is, attributed the hostility to nerves once Blaine's expression softened upon the realization of his tone.

"How old were you when you first realized?"

* * *

_He scowled at the rack of floral dresses his mother was currently browsing through. Every shopping escapade began and ended the same way. His mother always arrived so full of hope and they both left with frowns after the usual arguments._

"_Gracie, what about this one?" she held up a lavender spaghetti strap sundress with pale yellow daisies scattered over the fabric._

"_No," he hadn't even looked up at the dress; he kept his eyes across the aisle at the boys' section instead._

"_Why not? What's wrong with this one?" she did nothing to hide the blatant exasperation in her voice._

"_Ugly."_

"_I'm putting it into the pile for you to try on. You might like it once you see how pretty you'll look in it," she draped it over the handle of the shopping cart, resting it over six other equally bright and floral dresses, and resumed browsing the rack._

_He took one glance back at his mother before crossing the aisle to get a closer look at a rack of striped polo shirts. Even at such a young age his eye for style was fairly advanced. He pulled a blue and white shirt down by the hem, snapping the white plastic hanger in half, and carefully slid it on over his t-shirt. A content smile spread across his face and he turned his head to the right to see himself in the mirror. But something was missing, though his couldn't tell what it was. The outfit felt… incomplete as he posed for himself in the mirror. He turned in a slow circle and stopped when his eyes settled on a small display of bowties. It was all he could do to keep from running over to them. There were so many colours to choose from; he had no idea how he was going to pick just one._

_And then he saw it._

_Amid the sea of solid blues and blacks was a vibrant red one with thin, diagonal running white stripes. He picked it up and ran back to the mirror to clip it onto his collar._

"_Gracie! Gracie, where are you?" his mother's frantic cries suddenly reached his ears._

"_Mommy, look! I want these!" he declared proudly as he marched over to her. Her face fell and it was anger instead of relief that overtook her features. She let out a scream: a frustrated and angry and confused and upset-for-herself sort of sound that grabbed the attention of a few nearby shoppers and employees._

"_Take those off now! We're getting these dresses and leaving! I'm tired of this, Gracie, and I won't allow it anymore!"_

_He flinched and stared at his mother. Tears welled in his eyes as he took a step back from her. This wasn't his mother; he had never seen this woman before. He couldn't understand what he had done wrong. They were clothes shopping and these were clothes after all, weren't they?_

* * *

"Five," the word sounded strangled as it escaped his throat while he worked through the memory that had surfaced. He cleared his throat. "I was five when I realized something wasn't right."

"Did you know then or was it more that you felt like…" Kurt trailed off.

"Something was missing," Blaine finished for him. "I didn't know what exactly, I didn't have the words to express myself then," his face darkened.

Why was this so difficult to talk about? He'd been led to believe that one was normally meant to feel a sense of relief after sharing the burden of such soul consuming adversities. "I didn't understand any of it. I used to ask my mom why I was any different than the other little boys. I remember once I asked if it was too late to become one; I must have been five or six at the time. They kept saying I would grow out of it. "

"That must have been really hard. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you," Kurt offered kindly.

"It was frustrating. I didn't know how to make them understand. It got so much worse when I started school because I would be around all these other boys and just get so… so envious of them, you know? Why didn't I look more like them? Why was I treated differently? I didn't fit in with most of the girls." Kurt nodded to signify he was keeping up with Blaine's venting. "It didn't matter all that much when we were younger; everyone assumed I was a tomboy, there were girls that were pretty tomboyish and I thought maybe they understood. So we talked at school sometimes, but then they grew out of it."

"And then what?" Kurt prompted, dangerously tempted to take Blaine's hands into his as some sort of physical gesture of reassurance.

"And then… I had no one. So I started looking things up online when I was around eleven. I used to sneak on at night," Blaine breathed in deeply and exhaled sharply, his voice had slipped back into the "female register" he hated so much during the last statement, the tone of voice he fought so carefully to keep in check, symbolizing his gradual loss of control over his emotions. "And that's when I read about… all of this. That first night, I was so overwhelmed, so enamoured by all of that information. I don't think I slept at all; I just kept reading and reading and reading. Personal blog entries I stumbled across, forums, support groups, anonymous chats. 'Finally,' I thought, 'someone gets it. Someone can explain what's been happening to me.' And it was a small and temporary relief."

Kurt smiled the smallest of smiles and sipped his not-so-hot-anymore chocolate to keep himself from interrupting. It was almost overwhelming for him now that Blaine was actually starting to open up, but he was grateful for it. He welcomed it with arms as open as they could possibly go.

"But I wasn't smart enough then to know to clear the web browser history so my parents saw everything… After that my mom replaced all of my clothes with dresses and put a password on the computer. Everyone at school thought I "changed" so they started being nicer to me. Now that I had to present myself as female. Nobody had any idea what it was doing to me. That… those were bad times. Really bad times." And just like that he was starting to withdraw into himself again. Kurt could hear it in his voice and see it in his eyes.

"What happened then? During that time," Kurt spoke quickly, hoping to keep Blaine on the subject before he could shut down completely as he did so often. He knew he was stepping- no, fleeing- into very sensitive territory. Everything he said from now on had the potential to unexpectedly set Blaine off like a landmine.

"It was just a rough time, okay?" the skin on Blaine's knuckles grew taut as he gripped his mug and matched his stern tone. His entire presence had become strained and timorous once again. "Did you ever call your dad by the way?"

"This dance again, Blaine?" Kurt sighed, "I texted him. So your attempt at a subject change has failed once again. Come on, we need to talk about this."

"You really want to know what happened, Kurt?" Blaine's voice sounded so astonishingly distant it took a moment for him to remember they were merely inches away from each other. Something else had changed now; a new sort of darkness crept up between Blaine's words and it sent a shiver down Kurt's spine.

"Yeah, I do, Blaine. I just want to help," Kurt managed and dared not take his eyes off of him.

Blaine refused to repay Kurt with the same gesture; his gaze was fixed downward, anguish causing his face to scrunch up ever so slightly. He set the mug on the floor beside himself and pinched the left sleeve of his red cardigan between the fingers of his casted hand. It took a few seconds to work the sleeve up his forearm and confusion was definitely not lost on Kurt's face as he watched. It wasn't until Blaine held his arm out that he understood. A prominent, thick white scar ran lengthwise down his wrist; it was a good two or three inches long and Kurt wondered if he'd just never noticed it before or if Blaine took extra precautions hiding it. "Night before my twelfth birthday," Blaine's soft voice burrowed itself into Kurt's ears and rapped lightly upon his eardrums. "Obviously it didn't work though."

And for once… Kurt was completely speechless.


	6. Chapter 5: My Dark Side

**Authors Note: No, I haven't abandoned this story. **

**Yes, I'm very **_**very**_** sorry that it's taken me so long to update.**

**Please stick around; I'll try to be better about it, I promise!**

**I hope you guys are still interested in this one. Your feedback has been phenomenal, from PMs and reviews to tumblr messages—you guys are all absolutely brilliant. Without any further ado...**

* * *

Caught In The Lie

Chapter 5: My Dark Side

The silence hung between them and stretched on for centuries. Kurt felt numb, incapable of expressing any of the millions of tiny thoughts buzzing about his head. Blaine sat, frozen, with his arm still exposed and blinked a few times, almost as if he was unaware of what he had just done. Without hesitation, Kurt reached a hand out and gently grazed the scar on Blaine's wrist with his index and middle fingers. He did not want to believe it was really there. He did not want to acknowledge the fact that someone as kind and beautiful as the person sitting here before him could ever really consider suicide as an option.

Blaine shivered at the touch and drew his arm away quickly. Embarrassment washed over his features, but the dazed expression lingered. Kurt stared at him with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow, despite knowing how uncomfortable it was likely making Blaine feel. For the longest time neither of them spoke—what was there to say, really?

Well, Kurt had plenty he wanted to say. But he knew Blaine would redirect every single question he had to offer. When the silence had started to become unbearable Blaine tugged his sleeve down and cleared his throat.

"So, I've been thinking about what song I want to do for Glee club," he said suddenly.

"Oh yeah?" Kurt's voice came out rusted and unpolished, doing much justice in portraying the thousand years of silence that had just passed between them. If Blaine noticed, he chose not to comment on it.

"Yeah, but I'm having trouble narrowing it down to just one," Blaine drummed his fingers lightly on the floor between his legs.

"You could try to mash them up. Mr. Schue likes when we don't take things so literally and try to put our own spin on songs," Blaine nodded politely in response. "So what songs do you have in mind?"

"Well," he bit his lip, "It's sort of silly."

"Oh, come on—out with it. Suspense always kills me," Kurt tried to keep the mood chipper with his dramatics.

"Heaven's Light from Hunchback of Notre Dame," Blaine rested his hands on his lap, "Or then there's Go The Distance from Hercules, and—oh gosh, you're laughing at me." Blaine frowned suddenly when Kurt let out a small chuckle.

"I think that's a great approach. What's more inspiring than Disney songs? You should do a medley!"

"I hadn't considered that," Blaine said thoughtfully. "That's a great idea. So what are you thinking of doing?"

"Ah, that's going to stay a surprise," Kurt winked playfully and Blaine gulped down an intense flutter of wings that travelled all the way from his stomach to his throat. He tried to keep himself from reading too much into the wink; he tried to put up a dam to block the impending flood of _'well, what if's'_ from completely obliterating every single one of his defenses, but he couldn't. The more time he was spending with Kurt, the more he was realizing just how powerless he was to his emotions. He hadn't allowed himself to feel love for anyone or anything for years; he had inadvertently shut out all of the good in his many attempts to avoid the bad that always seemed to come with it. And he was suffering for it now. God, was he suffering for it now. That very flutter that he now felt had been so subtle, so gentle at first, but everything was beginning to come at him hard and fast. While it left him paralyzed with fear, he was also clinging to those feelings for dear life in the lovesick hope that something positive was indeed heading his way for once.

"You know," Kurt rubbed his hands together slowly, dragging his slender fingers up and down his palms twice before interlocking them together. "We... really should take a second and go back to what just happened."

"I had a feeling you wouldn't let it go," Blaine smiled sadly, ready to bid the glimmer of easiness and comfort that had appeared a fond farewell.

"If I only have one chance for a Q and A," Kurt laughed nervously like he was trying to hide the fact that this was a very serious conversation they were about to have.

"This is—you know, it's new for me," Blaine began with a disclaimer. "It's very... difficult for me to trust anyone or ask for help. I've had to rely on myself for so long, I don't think I really even know _how_ to put my faith in anyone else."

"I understand," Kurt nodded. "I always used to try to handle everything on my own. Everyone sees me as out and proud now, but I was afraid to talk about it with anyone, not too long ago actually."

"What changed?"

"Joining Glee club," Kurt laughed, bearing his teeth in such a way that made Blaine's heart sputter and thud rampantly, when Blaine raised his eyebrows. "Just joining wasn't enough, obviously. They've been there for me through... a lot of difficult times. It gets easier to talk about yourself when you know people are actually listening. When you know people care and want to give you advice or a shoulder to cry on. Or if they just want to do something as simple as listen to you sing your heart out."

Blaine nodded a few times, keeping his eyes to the ground without really focusing on anything in particular. Kurt could practically see the contemplation, the conflict, seeping off of Blaine's skin like wispy curls of smoke. If he squinted his eyes it looked real; brilliant shades of purple and blue vibrating off of him in careful pulses. "Do you think that's what'll happen with me?" he asked quietly. "That they'll... accept me like they accepted you?"

"I do," Kurt replied without any hesitation. "They may not entirely understand, but they'll try to." Blaine nodded again, his expression completely unreadable. "Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"You wouldn't," Kurt paused, wishing he had taken more time to construct the question better before he actually started asking it. He exhaled quietly and Blaine lifted his head up to face him finally. "You wouldn't try to kill yourself again, would you? Because I know everything seems impossible now, but—"

"No, Kurt," Blaine interrupted him with a tired smile and train-wreck eyes. "I just really want to get through high school. I think everything could be easier once I get to—once it's over, you know?"

"Get to where?" Kurt hadn't missed Blaine's meager attempt at redirection to keep his secrets to himself. "It's good to have a dream. Especially in this... shithole of a state." Blaine managed another tired smile. "So, where is it that you want to go then?"

"Ah, it's... I mean, I don't think I'd be able to. I would love to, I really would, but I know when to accept a fantasy as exactly just that—a silly, silly fantasy..."

"If I tell you where I want to go when I graduate, will you tell me then?" An eager twinkle appeared in both of his eyes; Blaine made two wishes right then and there—having to do with himself and the very subject Kurt was trying to discuss—as if they were shooting stars he would never again have the good fortune of witnessing for the rest of his lifetime.

"Okay, I'll play along then," Blaine replied dreamily, still lingering on the magnitude of those serendipitous sparkles, almost as bright as Sirius itself—or ten of them—he imagined. "But I think I can guess exactly where it is that you want to be."

"And what would your guess be?" Kurt grinned smugly.

"New York City," Blaine brought his knees up to his chest and planted his elbow atop them, resting his chin on the palm of his hand. Kurt immediately frowned. "...Wrong?"

"No. Right," Kurt's grin returned and he shook his head a few times. "Is it really that obvious?"

"It is the exact opposite of this place, and, from what I've seen in the short amount of time that we've been friends, it's very you."

"Someday," Kurt sighed, speaking with the same dreamlike air as Blaine had been just a moment ago. "Your turn."

"Technically you didn't tell me," Blaine smiled playfully. "I guessed. So..."

"Oh, come on!" Kurt whined and pulled on Blaine's sleeve a few times. For the first time in years, Blaine felt the force of his own laughter take control of every muscle in his body—he was actually having _fun_; he was actually at ease with himself and another living soul. And in that very moment, he had no secrets that he wanted to keep locked away from Kurt.

"Okay, okay," he shook Kurt's hand free, his muscles still tingling. "But I want you to guess first."

"Can I ask questions?"

"Sure," Blaine rested his chin on his palm again.

"Is it a major city?"

Blaine nodded.

"Somewhere to the east of us now?"

Blaine nodded.

"_Ooh_, this is fun. Okay, based on the way you described it, I'm going to have to go with New York City for you as well."

"What did my description have to do with it?"

"Because you're bigger than this place and I can see you... happy there. At home," Kurt smiled. "Right?"

Blaine smiled back, "Wrong."

"Wrong?" Kurt repeated, his eyes becoming quizzical and suspicious.

"Wrong. Well, not totally wrong. Someday, I think I would like to live there. But there's another place that I really want to go to first, maybe even live there for a little while rather than just visit for a short time."

"Are you going to make me guess again?" Kurt feigned impatient misery and Blaine was overtaken by another full-body laugh.

"No, I think you've earned it now," he paused and soaked up the last few seconds in which his wish belonged entirely to him. "Italy."

"Interesting," Kurt stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Italy... Do you speak Italian?"

"Bits and pieces, really. I haven't really spent much time learning it because I don't think I'll ever actually end up over there," he shrugged.

"Italy," Kurt repeated. "Why didn't I think of something cool like that? Boring old me with my dream to stay in the country."

"I don't think you're boring at all," Blaine made no attempt to gulp down the words, or how rushed and loud they sounded once they left his head. "You're the single most fascinating person I've ever met."

Kurt held his gaze with glassy eyes before he snorted loudly. "If I knew you'd be dishing out compliments like this I'd have pushed you into talking a lot sooner."

"Live and learn," Blaine couldn't help but be surprised by his own comfort with the entire conversation thus far.

"Yeah," Kurt laughed the word out quietly before clearing his throat. "So... I've been doing some research online. About transgender teens and resources in Ohio."

The rigidity that set into every part of Blaine was so instantaneous and intense that Kurt could even feel it bounce back and burrow itself into his own bones. He knew that, eventually, the conversation was going to have to cave and this appeared to be the inevitable breaking point. There was something so familiar about the pain and terror in Blaine's eyes though, that he couldn't bear to drop it. "You don't have to handle all of this on your own anymore, Blaine. I want to understand, I want to help."

"I know that you do. And... I really do appreciate that," Blaine rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the various knots that had appeared all at once in his neck. "It's just—when I hear that word, when I think about what it means—not just for me, but for everyone else having to deal with it—I just... I panic. I don't," he fixed his gaze past Kurt, tears welling up threateningly, and exhaled slowly. "I don't want to acknowledge that this is my life. That I'm going to have to work _so_ hard for something that other people were lucky enough to be born with."

"It's who you are, and I know that life is unfair, but we make of it what we can." Though Kurt believed that wholeheartedly, he still wished that there was something more he could offer. "You know..." he began as an idea struck his brain. "I was reading up on clinics in the area, ones that cater to the needs of transgender teens and LGBT youth. Maybe it'd be something worth checking out. One guy's story, I remember he said that they even helped him out with starting hormone replacement therapy. What do you think?"

Blaine could hardly get a word out. The fact that Kurt had dedicated even a fraction of a second of his time to researching this—and so extensively, it sounded like—had caused some indescribable emotion to lodge itself in his throat. He wanted to say 'thank you;' he wanted to confess his numerous realizations of just how amazing Kurt really was; he momentarily even considered printing out pages upon pages bearing synonyms for the word 'love' and highlighting the ones he thought might come close to describing to the tsunami tide he currently felt in his chest. And just as he was beginning to batten down the barricades around his heart that were meant to keep it safe and sound from that overwhelming wave, Kurt just had to continue talking.

"I could even go with you if you're afraid to go alone."

That was it. Blaine was done for, then and there, and he knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do anymore to try to convince himself, '_No, you aren't falling for this boy_,' because yes—yes, he was—with the utmost speed and ardor, he certainly was. But he also knew that nothing good would or even _could_ come of this; that the only type of love he would be "receiving" from Kurt would be of the unrequited variety. So with a weighted heart and even heavier words, he squelched the near deafening symphony that had just begun to accompany that erratic tsunami tide and managed a very convincing, very composed, "You're right, I think it's worth checking out. It'd be great if you could come with me."

Kurt beamed and Blaine just continued to melt in his presence.

"Would... a subject change be okay now?" Blaine shifted and crossed his legs underneath himself.

"Of course, Blaine," Kurt's eyes turned sympathetic, silently asking if he had crossed a line anywhere, and then suddenly that shimmer was back. "I have an idea—let's watch a Disney film. I have a whole collection, and we could pick out what songs you can use for your medley."

"Kurt," Blaine tried to contain his vehemence. "I would love nothing more."

* * *

The next day—a dreary, rainy Sunday—Blaine found himself awake much earlier than Kurt and Burt. As a 'thank you' for their hospitality, he decided he was going to cook breakfast for them. As he noiselessly folded the heavy comforter over his legs he caught sight of Kurt lounging in the armchair by the bed, a rather curious sight as they had begun the night in the same bed. Blaine wondered what it was that drove Kurt away from the comfort of his own bed and into something as _un_comfortable as a chair. And then he felt a sharp twinge in his chest: '_It was me, I must have weirded him out.'_ He quickly smothered the thought and shook his head, believing that if he did so hard enough the vicious result of his overworking brain would just fall out of his ear and cease its taunting. To his dismay, that did not appear to be the case. He sighed quietly, disappointed, and quietly ascended the stairs to make his way to the kitchen. It stayed with him, a tiny prickling sensation in the back of his head, as he flipped the light switch up and tried to think of something easy that he could prepare with one hand.

_'French toast seems simple enough.'_

Remembering what he could from watching Kurt bustle around yesterday it only took him about five minutes to locate everything that he needed. The only real problem facing him was being unable to use his dominant hand. So with clumsy determination he managed to crack open a few eggs—scooping out the shell fragments with a fork—into a bowl with his left hand; fifteen more minutes passed before brilliant sizzling took its turn in trying to overtake the little buzzing insecurities and borderline cruel fantasies still flying around rampantly in his head. He knew Kurt was a friend, someone he was slowly allowing himself to trust, but the idea that he could be something more was so... overpowering. With each hopeful pulse came doubt, and with each glimpse at his reflection came the reassurance that they could never be anything more than friends. He tried to keep his eyes down on the piece of toast in the frying pan, but in the end, the impulse to steal a glance at himself in the reflective surface of the microwave door above the stove won.

While the bread squealed and burned he could not tear his eyes away from his shadowy depiction in the glass. Avoiding mirrors had become something of an unspoken talent for him. So much so that he couldn't even remember the last time he had actually dedicated more than a few quick seconds to studying himself. The glass worked as a picture frame where he was cropped into view just below his collarbone; he was almost able to trick himself into thinking that the small bumps on his chest just south of the protruding bones were nonexistent. Almost. Despite his high cheekbones and hollow cheeks he knew that his features still betrayed him. The tiniest hint of feminism still shone through the cracks in the mask he had slipped on; clinging to anything that it could; accentuating the subtle curves around his hips and thighs that were still slightly visible even under some of the looser clothing he wore, which was a rarity given the fact that he wasn't particularly fond of the way baggy clothing fell on his petite frame; preventing facial hair that he craved more than anything; making him bleed every month—no matter how much weight he tried to drop in a desperate attempt to just make it stop—and reminding him of the lack of a certain appendage between his skinny legs. Measuring at a meager 5' 6" he couldn't even use height to his advantage. He furrowed his eyebrows—graciously thick and slightly triangular in shape—and blinked a few times, taking note of his long eyelashes.

_'No. I don't even stand a chance with him.'_

And really, if he was taking the time to be completely honest with himself, what hope did he have? Kurt was amazing and accepting, there was no doubt about that in Blaine's mind, but he was also human. He surely had some fantasy of his dream guy; someone that Blaine definitely knew was not modeled after him. Kurt claimed he understood, or that he wanted to try to understand; he had been nothing but helpful since their first encounter; he had been beyond supportive; he was stunningly beautiful—'_stop it, you don't belong here among all the other reasons'_—but everyone had a limit. There was only so much that Kurt could be on board with, so much that he could say he agreed with and wholeheartedly supported... and the line between lover and friend was one that Blaine just _knew_ Kurt would not cross. And perhaps a friend was all that Blaine needed for now. After having spent so much time alone, re-learning how to generally just connect with another person was all that he told himself he should be focusing on. But it was proving to be too difficult to just shove the title of "friend" above Kurt's head and stop at that. Blaine was beginning to lose control of himself. He wondered how much longer it would be before he started making a complete fool of himself around Kurt, how long before his "silly little crush" became something painfully obvious to the object of his desire. It was enough to give Blaine goose-bumps and plague his nervous system with sporadic shivers of embarrassment as he envisioned some of the awkward scenarios awaiting them.

_'I just need to stop thinking about him like that. I can't weird him out and drive him away. God, I would just die if he ended up hating me for this.'_

"Kurt tell you that's his favourite?"

Blaine gasped loudly and inhaled a very strange mixture of oxygen and smoke; the combination of elements set his lungs ablaze, which he then proceeded to hack up into his hand. Between smaller, more controlled, intakes of air he turned to face Burt and managed a raspy, "You scared me, Mr. Hummel."

"Sorry, kiddo," Burt rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, a trace of embarrassment painted between the cracks of his lips. "You alright?" He leaned over the sink and yanked the window upwards. "Come stand over here. Help you breathe better, I bet."

Blaine moved the frying pan—bearing a particularly black piece of toast—away from the heat and did as Burt instructed. After a few slow breaths his lungs forgave him enough to fully douse the dying flames within them; he cleared his throat for good measure before allowing himself to even think about talking again. "Did I wake you?" He made a small noise, not quite a groan and not quite an "hmm," but somewhere in between. "I hope it's okay that I'm—I wanted to make you guys breakfast."

"Kurt tell you or did you guess?" Burt smiled warmly at him.

"Huh?"

"French toast is his favourite."

"Oh," Blaine's eager mind quickly added a tally in the column of reasons why Kurt could possibly see past his physical hindrances. '_The way to a man's heart, right?'_

"Don't be offended if he's quick to pass judgment just a little too harshly though," Burt added in jest.

"Why is that?" Blaine returned to the stove and used the spatula to scrape the burnt piece of toast off.

"He says none have ever compared to the way his mother used to make them." Burt stepped on the pedal for the trash bin so that Blaine could discard the inedible morsel; Blaine carefully dropped it in and smiled to himself at the thought of young Kurt and his mother, both marching around the kitchen as Kurt whined and begged to help and of course she always let him, despite the mess he always seemed to make. He imagined Burt watching, spying, from the doorway—just taking in the sight of his family and exhaling easy, peaceful breaths of love and comfort.

"She was one hell of a cook."

Was.

And Blaine remembered then. Kurt's mother was a thing of the past.

"He misses her very much, doesn't he?" Blaine asked quietly, averting his attention to another piece of bread that he planned to watch carefully this time.

"She'd be proud of him now," Burt didn't quite answer Blaine's question.

"She should be," Blaine answered automatically and speared the bread with a fork. As he carefully turned it over he chose a bold approach and continued. "He's really great. I don't even understand why he wanted to be my friend. All I kept trying to do at first was shut him out, but he just wouldn't give up, you know? Good heart—he has a good heart."

"Yes, he does," Burt agreed, voice slightly tinted with contemplation, and turned on the coffee machine. "How's your hand feeling?"

"It's okay. Doesn't hurt much right now, and I don't really like taking medication so I'm really happy about not needing to take it at the moment."

"How did it happen?" Burt's face, hidden from view as his back was to Blaine, was expectant; the routine felt rehearsed, and, truth be told, it was—he had lost count of how many times the same scenario presented itself with Kurt when he was being bullied.

Blaine—caught completely off-guard— stammered, tripping and stumbling his way over a response. "Accident—it was an—someone accidentally shut my locker and my hand got caught. Nobody's fault."

Burt gritted his teeth—not in anger at Blaine, of course—because he had taken part in this dance before. What was it about kids that kept them from telling the truth and asking for help? He eased the strain out of his jaw before turning to face Blaine. "You know, Kurt used to get picked on at school."

"He—he's sort of hinted at it. His friend Finn had mentioned something in Glee club the other day," he could not bring himself to say Karofsky's name.

"Finn's a good kid too, I'm glad he and Kurt have been getting closer since Carole and I started seeing each other. All of those kids—you're in good hands, you're going to be making some really great friends," he paused, letting Blaine absorb everything for a moment. "So if there's anything you want to get out, anything you _need_—it's okay to ask," he added—suggested—with high hopes. Blaine's mouth was slightly agape, possibly even ready to let some of the secrets of Karofsky's abuse over the past few weeks just spill out, but Kurt waltzed into the room—rubbing his eyes and yawning—and Blaine let his mouth snap shut once again, for fear that the butterflies that suddenly invaded in his stomach would fly out instead. Burt cast a sympathetic smile in Blaine's direction and took a seat at the table.

"Morning," Blaine greeted him with a goofy smile.

"Mm," Kurt hummed sleepily.

"I um—I made French toast." At the mention of it Kurt perked up immediately and gravitated towards Blaine; his face was merely inches away as he leaned over Blaine's shoulder and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, and let out the tiniest, most sensual noise Blaine had ever heard from him. It was one of those rare times that Blaine was glad he _didn't_ have a dick hanging between his legs, because he was certain it would have definitely popped up to say hello causing him to proceed to die of embarrassment right on the spot. A beat later his mind was berating him for even continuing to have these feelings towards Kurt—_'You're supposed to be weaning yourself off of him!'_—and by then Kurt had loudly claimed the first piece for himself.

"This smells wonderful," he commented happily as he grabbed a plate from the cabinet above Blaine's head. At the table Burt watched them out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a newspaper.

"Your dad told me I should brace myself for your critique," Blaine responded jokingly.

"Did he now?" Kurt cast a glance towards the table where Burt averted his eyes back to the newspaper with jerky movements. "So did your team win, dad?"

"Uhh Garfield. I'm just looking at the comic secti—oh wait," Burt blinked dumbly and Kurt rewarded him with a purposely-exaggerated eye-roll.

"At least _pretend_ like you're looking at it. You're _the_ worst at being subtle," Kurt grinned and patted Blaine's arm gently—who was entirely surprised that his skin did not shoot sparks through his cardigan in reaction to the brief contact—as a thank you before taking a seat next to his father.

"Where do you think you get it from?" Burt folded the newspaper and set it down. Kurt rolled his eyes again. "So what are you kids up to today?"

"Dunno," Kurt shrugged and spoke with his mouth full. He took a second to swallow before continuing, "I was going to see if Blaine maybe wanted to stop by his place so he could pick up a change or clothes or something." Kurt turned to Blaine with eyes that were challenging, yet still polite.

Blaine swallowed thickly and returned his gaze with a tight-lipped smile—he didn't want to have this argument right now, especially not in front of Burt, but Kurt had a point. Kurt didn't let his eyes wander, waiting patiently for an answer from Blaine, when Burt cut in again.

"Carole and I were thinking about going to the movies with Finn sometime this afternoon—would you two be interested in coming with us? Maybe after you stop off at Blaine's?"

"What do you think, Blaine?" Kurt wasn't going to make this easy for him and for a fraction of a second Blaine almost hated him for it. But within that same amount of time he also quickly realized how much he _couldn't_ hate Kurt. He didn't have money to spare on a film—especially with the hospital bill he was going to have to pay—and with the state of what he sometimes called "home" and Kurt's judgmental eyes... it was definitely the start of a potentially terrible day.

"It'll be our treat," Burt added, trying to aid his son in convincing Blaine.

"Um, yeah. It sounds like fun." In the end, Blaine caved in to pressure and simply agreed to join.

"Great!" Burt exclaimed with a grin as wide as Kurt's. "I'll go call Carole and tell her." He left the room before Blaine could even think to say anything more. Instead he cooked the remaining three slices of bread and shut the stove off before joining Kurt at the table.

"So, why don't you want to show me where you live?" Kurt asked once Blaine had settled comfortably into a chair. "I'm not a stalker or anything," he added in jest.

"That's," Blaine bit his lip and let Kurt spear a piece of French toast onto a plate for him. "That's not what I'm afraid of."

Kurt's smile rapidly faded and he furrowed his eyebrows, worry scrawled all over his face. "What is it?"

"I'll agree to let you come under one condition," Blaine straightened up and reached for a fork, despite the knot in his stomach informing him that whatever he planned on trying to ingest would be sent straight back up way before he ever could.

"Okay," Kurt replied slowly, torn between blindly agreeing to Blaine's unnamed request and disobeying regardless of what that request was.

"Don't feel sorry for me," Blaine stated simply and turned his attention to his plate, cutting off a corner piece of toast with his fork.

Kurt's expression conveyed how utterly perplexed he was, but he agreed to the terms none-the-less. "We'll go after breakfast."

Blaine nodded. "After breakfast, okay."

* * *

**Please review if you liked what you've read. I apologise again; here, have my Klaine babies as a peace offering.**


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